The matter of prehistory : papers in honor of Antonio Gilman Guillén [1 ed.] 8400107217, 9788400107215

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The Matter of Prehistory: Papers in Honor of Antonio Gilman Guillén

PEDRO DÍAZ-DEL-RÍO

Bibliotheca Præhistorica Hispana

BIBLIOTHECA PRÆHISTORICA HISPANA

THE MATTER OF PREHISTORY: PAPERS IN HONOR OF ANTONIO GILMAN GUILLÉN

Vol. XXXVI

Vol. XXXVI

Edited by PEDRO DÍAZ-DEL-RÍO KATINA LILLIOS INÉS SASTRE

THE MATTER OF PREHISTORY: PAPERS IN HONOR OF ANTONIO GILMAN GUILLÉN

CONSEJO SUPERIOR DE INVESTIGACIONES CIENTÍFICAS

THE MATTER OF PREHISTORY: PAPERS IN HONOR OF ANTONIO GILMAN GUILLÉN

BIBLIOTHECA PRAEHISTORICA HISPANA, XXXVI Director Ignacio de la Torre Sáinz, Instituto de Historia, CSIC Secretario Xosé Lois Armada Pita, Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, CSIC Comité Editorial Primitiva Bueno Ramírez, Universidad de Alcalá de Henares Brais X. Currás Refojos, Instituto de Historia, CSIC Teresa Chapa Brunet, Universidad Complutense de Madrid Pedro Díaz-del-Río Español, Instituto de Historia, CSIC Leonor Peña Chocarro, Instituto de Historia, CSIC Alicia Perea Caveda, Instituto de Historia, CSIC Juan Pereira Sieso, Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha Inés Sastre Prats, Instituto de Historia, CSIC Consejo Asesor Federico Bernaldo de Quirós Guidotti, Universidad de León Concepción Blasco Bosqued, Universidad Autónoma de Madrid Francisco Burillo Mozota, Universidad de Zaragoza Felipe Criado Boado, Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, CSIC Nuno Ferreira Bicho, Universidade do Algarve Susana González Reyero, Instituto de Historia, CSIC Victorino Mayoral Herrera, Instituto de Arqueología (Mérida), CSIC-Junta de Extremadura Ignacio Montero Ruiz, Instituto de Historia, CSIC Lourdes Prados Torreira, Universidad Autónoma de Madrid Gonzalo Ruiz Zapatero, Universidad Complutense de Madrid Margarita Sánchez Romero, Universidad de Granada María Asunción Vila Mitjà, Institución Milá y Fontanals, CSIC

THE MATTER OF PREHISTORY: PAPERS IN HONOR OF ANTONIO GILMAN GUILLÉN Edited by Pedro Díaz-del-Río Katina Lillios Inés Sastre

CONSEJO SUPERIOR DE INVESTIGACIONES CIENTÍFICAS Madrid, 2020

Reservados todos los derechos por la legislación en materia de Propiedad Intelectual. Ni la totalidad ni parte de este libro, incluido el diseño de la cubierta, puede reproducirse, almacenarse o transmitirse en manera alguna por medio ya sea electrónico, químico, óptico, informático, de grabación o de fotocopia, sin permiso previo por escrito de la editorial. Las noticias, los asertos y las opiniones contenidos en esta obra son de la exclusiva responsabilidad del autor o autores. La editorial, por su parte, solo se hace responsable del interés científico de sus publicaciones.

Catálogo de publicaciones de la Administración General del Estado: https://cpage.mpr.gob.es Editorial CSIC: http://editorial.csic.es (correo: [email protected])

© CSIC © Pedro Díaz-del-Río, Katina Lillios e Inés Sastre © De las imágenes, los autores y las fuentes mencionadas a pie de figura ISBN: 978-84-00-10721-5 e-ISBN: 978-84-00-10722-2 NIPO: 833-20-189-7 e-NIPO: 833-20-190-X Depósito Legal: M-30504-2020 Maquetación, impresión y encuadernación: Estudios Gráficos Europeos S.A. Impreso en España. Printed in Spain En esta edición se ha utilizado papel ecológico sometido a un proceso de blanqueado ECF, cuya fibra procede de bosques gestionados de forma sostenible.

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ÍNDICE

List of Contributors.......................................................................................................................

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I. The Power of Reason, the Matter of Prehistory. Honoring Antonio Gilman, Pedro Díaz-del-Río, Katina Lillios, Inés Sastre........................................................................ 17

II.

Modes 0f Production Revisited, Timothy Earle, Kristian Kristiansen............................. 29

III.

Towards Archaeological Theory: A History, Margarita Díaz-Andreu.......................... 43

IV. Resistencia política e identidad relacional. Los casos de los awá (Brasil) y gumuz y dats’in (Etiopía), Almudena Hernando............................................................ 57 V. Perspectives on the Biogeographic and Cultural Adaptations of Early Humans during the First Intercontinental Dispersals, Ignacio de la Torre, Alfonso BenitoCalvo, Faysal Bibi, Jackson Njau, Shuwen Pei, Florent Rivals, Haowen Tong, Kevin Uno, Sara Varela, Xiujie Wu.............................................................................................................. 73 VI. The Middle Paleolithic Revolution, the Origins of Art, and the Epistemology of Paleoanthropology, João Zilhão..................................................................................... 85 VII.  Explorando los sesgos en las cronologías radiocarbónicas. La transición Mesolítico-Neolítico a la luz de la base de datos de radiocarbono de la prehistoria reciente ibérica de Antonio Gilman, Juan M. Vicent García, Antonio Uriarte González, Carlos Fernández Freire, Pedro Díaz-del-Río Español.............. 105 VIII.  Los caminos de la desigualdad. Releyendo la prehistoria reciente del noroeste ibérico, César Parcero-Oubiña, Xosé-Lois Armada, Felipe Criado-Boado.......................... 123 IX.

Where Is the State in Portuguese Later Prehistory? Katina T. Lillios........................ 145

X.  The Human Position: The Potential of Bioarchaeology for Studies of Inequality in Iberian Late Prehistory, Jess Beck........................................................ 153

XI. Implantación y desarrollo de las estrategias agropecuarias en el sureste: la depresión de Vera (Almería), María Dolores Camalich Massieu, Francisco Javier Rodríguez Santos, Jonathan Santana Cabrera, José Luis Caro Herrero, Juan Antonio Martos Romero, Carmen Cacho Quesada, Dimas Martín Socas............................................ 173 XII. The Chronology of the Structural Changes between the Copper and Bronze Ages in Iberia, Vicente Lull, Rafael Micó, Cristina Rihuete Herrada, Roberto Risch........ 193 XIII. Cultural Resistance to Social Fragmentation: The Continuity and Reuse of Megalithic Monuments during the Argaric Bronze Age in Southeastern Iberia, Gonzalo Aranda Jiménez, Margarita Sánchez Romero, Marta Díaz-Zorita Bonilla, Águeda Lozano Medina, Javier Escudero Carrillo, Lara Milesi............................................. 213 XIV. Reciclado o reutilización del metal en la producción metalúrgica argárica, Ignacio Montero-Ruiz, Mercedes Murillo-Barroso, Salvador Rovira-Llorens........................ 235 XV. The Origins of Social Inequality in Prehistoric Europe: Rituals and Monuments to Control Wealth in the Bronze Age of La Mancha, Luis Benítez de Lugo Enrich, Miguel Mejías Moreno, José Antonio López-Sáez, César Esteban................................................. 249  xcepcionalidad espacial, actividad metalúrgica y molinos de granito XVI. E en Carricastro (Tordesillas, Valladolid). Una lectura sobre los grandes yacimientos ‘encumbrados’ Cogotas I del valle medio del Duero, Marcos García García, Germán Delibes de Castro, José Antonio Rodríguez Marcos.................................... 261

XVII. Project Au: The Archaeology of Gold, Alicia Perea........................................................ 281 XVIII. De la complejidad del registro de superficie hacia una historia agraria del paisaje. El entorno de Cancho Roano como estudio de caso, Victorino Mayoral Herrera, Sebastián Celestino Pérez, Sabah Walid Sbeinati.................................................... 291 XIX. Sociedades ‘germánicas’. El Bajo Ebro en la primera Edad del Hierro, Antonio Blanco González........................................................................................................................ 307 XX. La escultura ibérica y sus implicaciones territoriales, Teresa Chapa Brunet, María Isabel Martínez Navarrete.............................................................................................. 323 XXI. Costes de sumisión frente a costes de rebelión. Por qué no hay jerarquización social en el Noroeste de la Península Ibérica hasta la dominación romana, Inés Sastre, Brais X. Currás, F. Javier Sánchez-Palencia, Almudena Orejas.................................. 337 XXII. Dinámicas internas e implicaciones para los estudios austronesios. Aproximación preliminar a la secuencia arqueológica taiwanesa a través del análisis geoespacial de los yacimientos prehistóricos, María Cruz-Berrocal, Antonio Uriarte González, María Sebastián López, Elena Serrano Herrero, Chenghwa Tsang................. 345

Antonio Gilman Guillén photographed by Benedicte Gilman at the Karl Marx House museum, Trier (Germany), 5 august 2012

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Faysal Bibi Museum für Naturkunde Leibniz-Institut für Evolutions- und Biodiversitätsforschung, Berlin Deutschland E-mail: [email protected]

Gonzalo Aranda Jiménez Universidad de Granada Facultad de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Prehistoria y Arqueología Campus Universitario de Cartuja, 18071 Granada, España E-mail: [email protected] Xosé-Lois Armada Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, INCIPIT Avda. de Vigo s/n, 15705 Santiago de Compostela España E-mail: [email protected]

Antonio Blanco González Universidad de Salamanca Facultad de Geografía e Historia Grupo PREHUSAL Calle Cervantes s/n, 37002 Salamanca España E-mail: [email protected]

Jess Beck University of Cambridge McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research Downing Street Cambridge CB2 3ER UK E-mail: [email protected]

Carmen Cacho Quesada Museo Arqueológico Nacional Departamento Prehistoria Calle Serrano 13, 28001 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Luis Benítez de Lugo Enrich Universidad Autónoma de Madrid Facultad de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Prehistoria y Arqueología Crta. Colmenar Viejo km. 15, 28049 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

María Dolores Camalich Massieu Universidad de La Laguna Departamento de Geografía e Historia, UDI Prehistoria, Arqueología e Historia Antigua Aptdo. 456, 38200 La Laguna, Tenerife España E-mail: [email protected]

Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia Dpto. de Geografía e Historia (Centro Asociado de Ciudad Real) Calle Seis de Junio 55, 13300 Valdepeñas, Ciudad Real España E-mail: [email protected]

José Luis Caro Herrero Universidad de Málaga Departamento de Lenguajes y Ciencias de la Computación Complejo Tecnológico, Campus de Teatinos, 29071 Málaga España E-mail: [email protected]

Alfonso Benito-Calvo Centro Nacional de Investigación sobre la Evolución Humana Paseo Sierra de Atapuerca 3, 09002 Burgos España E-mail: [email protected]

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Sebastián Celestino Pérez Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Arqueología-Mérida Plaza de España 15, 06800 Mérida España E-mail: [email protected]

Marta Díaz-Zorita Bonilla Universität Tübingen Institut für Ur- und Frühgeschichte und Archäologie des Mittelalters Geschwister-Scholl-Platz, 72074 Tübingen Deutschland E-mail: [email protected]

Teresa Chapa Brunet Universidad Complutense de Madrid Facultad de Geografía e Historia Departamento de Prehistoria, Historia Antigua y Arqueología Calle Profesor Aranguren 2, 28040 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Timothy Earle Department of Anthropology Northwestern University 1810 Hinman Ave Evanston, Illinois 60206. USA E-mail: [email protected]

Felipe Criado-Boado Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, INCIPIT Avda. de Vigo s/n, 15705 Santiago de Compostela España E-mail: [email protected]

Javier Escudero Carrillo Universität Tübingen Institut für Ur- und Frühgeschichte und Archäologie des Mittelalters Geschwister-Scholl-Platz, 72074 Tübingen Deutschland E-mail: [email protected]

María Cruz-Berrocal Universidad de Cantabria. Instituto Internacional de Investigaciones Prehistóricas de Cantabria, IIIPC Gobierno de Cantabria, Universidad de Cantabria y Santander Avenida de los Castros s/n, 39005 Santander España E-mail: [email protected]

César Esteban Instituto de Astrofísica de Canarias Calle Vía Láctea s/n. 38200 La Laguna. Santa Cruz de Tenerife España E-mail: [email protected] Universidad de La Laguna Facultad de Ciencias Departamento de Astrofísica Avda. Astrofísico Francisco Sánchez s/n, 38206 La Laguna, Santa Cruz de Tenerife España

Brais X. Currás Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Carlos Fernández Freire Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Centro de Ciencias Humanas y Sociales Unidad SIGyHD Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España

Germán Delibes de Castro Universidad de Valladolid Departamento de Prehistoria, Arqueología, Antropología Social y Ciencias y Técnicas Historiográficas Plaza del Campus s/n, 47011Valladolid España E-mail: [email protected]

Marcos García García Servicio Español para la Internacionalización de la Educación Ministerio de Universidades Calle General Oraa 55, 28006 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Pedro Díaz-del-Río Español Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Almudena Hernando Universidad Complutense Facultad de Geografía e Historia Departamento de Prehistoria, Historia Antigua y Arqueología Calle Profesor Aranguren s/n, 28040 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Margarita Díaz-Andreu Institució Catalana de Recerca i Estudis Avançats, ICREA Pg. Lluís Companys 23, 08010 Barcelona Espanya Universitat de Barcelona Departament de Història i Arqueologia Calle Montalegre 6, 08001 Barcelona Espanya

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Kristian Kristiansen Institutionen för Historiska Studier Göteborgs universitet Box 200, 40530 Göteborg Svenska E-mail: [email protected]

Miguel Mejías Moreno Instituto Geológico y Minero de España Calle Ríos Rosas 23, 28003 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected] Rafael Micó Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Facultat de Filosofia i Lletres Departament de Prehistòria Edifici B, 08193 Bellaterra, Barcelona Espanya E-mails: [email protected]

Katina Lillios The University of Iowa Department of Anthropology 114 Macbride Hall, Iowa City, Iowa 52242 USA E-mail: [email protected] José Antonio López-Sáez Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Lara Milesi Universidad de Granada Facultad de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Prehistoria y Arqueología Campus Universitario de Cartuja, 18071 Granada España E-mail: [email protected]

Águeda Lozano Medina Universidad de Granada Facultad de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Prehistoria y Arqueología Campus Universitario de Cartuja, 18071 Granada España E-mail: [email protected]

Ignacio Montero-Ruiz Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Vicente Lull Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Facultat de Filosofia i Lletres Departament de Prehistòria Edifici B, 08193 Bellaterra, Barcelona Espanya E-mail: [email protected]

Mercedes Murillo-Barroso Universidad de Granada Facultad de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Prehistoria y Arqueología Campus Universitario de Cartuja, 18071 Granada España E-mail: [email protected]

Dimas Martín Socas Universidad de La Laguna Departamento de Geografía e Historia, UDI Prehistoria, Arqueología e Historia Antigua Aptdo. 456, 38200 La Laguna, Tenerife España E-mail: [email protected]

Jackson Njau Indiana University Department of Earth and Atmospheric Sciences 1001 E Tenth Street, Bloomington, IN 47405 USA E-mail: [email protected] Almudena Orejas Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

María Isabel Martínez Navarrete Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Departamento de Arqueología y Procesos Sociales Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

César Parcero-Oubiña Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, INCIPIT Avda. de Vigo s/n, 15705 Santiago de Compostela España E-mail: [email protected]

Juan Antonio Martos Romero Museo Arqueológico Nacional Departamento Prehistoria Calle Serrano 13, 28001 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected] Victorino Mayoral Herrera Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Arqueología-Mérida Plaza de España 15, 06800 Mérida España E-mail: [email protected]

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Salvador Rovira-Llorens (jubilado) Museo Arqueológico Nacional Departamento Prehistoria Calle Serrano 13, 28001 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Shuwen Pei Chinese Academy of Sciences Institute of Vertebrate Paleontology and Paleoanthropology Key Laboratory of Vertebrate Evolution and Human Origins Beijing 100044 China E-mail: [email protected]

F. Javier Sánchez-Palencia Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Alicia Perea Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España E-mails: [email protected]; [email protected]

Margarita Sánchez Romero Universidad de Granada Facultad de Filosofía y Letras Departamento de Prehistoria y Arqueología Campus Universitario de Cartuja, 18071 Granada España E-mail: [email protected]

Cristina Rihuete Herrada Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Facultat de Filosofia i Lletres Departament de Prehistòria Edifici B, 08193 Bellaterra, Barcelona Espanya E-mail: [email protected]

Jonathan Santana Cabrera Durham University Department of Archeology South Rd. DH1 3LE Durham United Kingdom E-mail: [email protected]

Roberto Risch Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Facultat de Filosofia i Lletres Departament de Prehistòria Edifici B, 08193 Bellaterra, Barcelona Espanya E-mail: [email protected]

Inés Sastre Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Florent Rivals Institució Catalana de Recerca i Estudis Avançats, ICREA Passeig Lluís Companys 23, 08010 Barcelona Espanya E-mail: [email protected]

María Sebastián López Universidad de Zaragoza Calle Pedro Cerbuna 12, 50009 Zaragoza España E-mail: [email protected]

Institut Català de Paleoecologia Humana i Evolució Social, IPHES Zona Educacional 4, Campus Sescelades URV (Edifici W3), 43007 Tarragona Espanya

Elena Serrano Herrero Universidad de Cantabria Instituto Internacional de Investigaciones Prehistóricas de Cantabria, IIIPC Gobierno de Cantabria, Universidad de Cantabria y Santander Avenida de los Castros, s/n. Santander 39005 España E-mail: [email protected]

Universitat Rovira i Virgili Àrea de Prehistòria Avinguda de Catalunya 35, 43002 Tarragona Espanya José Antonio Rodríguez Marcos Universidad de Burgos Departamento de Historia, Geografía y Comunicación Calle Paseo de Comendadores, 09001 Burgos E-mail: [email protected]

Haowen Tong Chinese Academy of Sciences Institute of Vertebrate Paleontology and Paleoanthropology Key Laboratory of Vertebrate Evolution and Human Origins Beijing 100044 China E-mail: [email protected]

Francisco Javier Rodríguez Santos Universidad de Cantabria / Gobierno de Cantabria Banco Santander Instituto Internacional de Investigaciones Prehistóricas de Cantabria Avenida Los Castros 52, 39005 Santander España E-mail: [email protected]

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Xiujie Wu Chinese Academy of Sciences Institute of Vertebrate Paleontology and Paleoanthropology Key Laboratory of Vertebrate Evolution and Human Origins Beijing 100044 China E-mail: [email protected]

Ignacio de la Torre Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Departamento de Arqueología y Procesos Sociales Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España Chenghwa Tsang National Tsing Hua University No. 101, Section 2, Kuang-Fu Road, Hsinchu, Taiwan 30013 R.O.C. E-mail: [email protected]

João Zilhão Universitat de Barcelona Facultat de Geografia i Història Departament de Prehistòria, Història Antiga i Arqueologia Seminari d’Estudis i Recerques Prehistòriques (SGR2017-00011) Espanya E-mail: [email protected]

Kevin Uno Columbia University Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory Division of Biology and Paleo Environment USA E-mail: [email protected]

Centro de Arqueologia da Universidade de Lisboa, UNIARQ Faculdade de Letras 1600, 214 Lisboa Portugal

Antonio Uriarte González Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected]

Institució Catalana de Recerca i Estudis Avançats, ICREA Passeig Lluís Companys 23, 08010 Barcelona Espanya

Sara Varela Museum für Naturkunde Leibniz-Institut für Evolutions- und Biodiversitätsforschung, Berlin Deutschland E-mail: [email protected] Juan M. Vicent García Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Instituto de Historia Calle Albasanz 26-28, 28037 Madrid España E-mail: [email protected] Sabah Walid Sbeinati Underground Arqueología España E-mail: [email protected]

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I. THE POWER OF REASON, THE MATTER OF PREHISTORY. HONORING ANTONIO GILMAN Pedro Díaz-del-Río / Katina Lillios / Inés Sastre

Abstract This chapter summarizes Antonio Gilman’s career and contributions as a Marxist, comparative and field archaeologist. We review his implacable logic, key ideas and their reception in archeology and in the history of political economy, as well as their influence on Iberian archaeology and its academic community.

of Archaeologists in Barcelona. This session was memorable for many reasons. First, it was packed: twenty-four papers written by archaeologists representing Antonio’s transgenerational and international influence were presented in a session that lasted an entire day. The room, although uncomfortably warm at times, was still full at the end of the day. The papers, which critically engaged with the role of Antonio’s thinking and research, were of high quality. Above all was the expression of affection and friendship that was displayed throughout the day. There was a continuous flow of people wanting to greet, congratulate, and speak with Antonio. All this reflects the role played by personal relationships in Antonio’s academic life and the importance that he has given to cultivating and caring for his friendships. The session and this volume are a direct consequence of these relationships.1 Antonio was born in 1944 of Stephen Gilman, an outstanding scholar in Hispanic literature and disciple of the exiled Américo Castro, and Teresa Guillén, daughter of the also exiled Spanish poet Jorge Guillén. As a child, Antonio lived at Princeton and Columbus, and by 1956 moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where his father soon took a position as full professor at Harvard. At their home, Antonio grew up surrounded by the friends and colleagues of his parents and grandparents, the republican exile and the intellectual elite of his time (Vicent, Martínez Navarrete and Díaz-del-Río 2020).

Keywords: Antonio Gilman, Marxist archaeology, Iberia, United States of America, later prehistory, Historiography. Resumen Este capítulo sintetiza la carrera y las contribuciones de Antonio Gilman como arqueólogo marxista, comparativista y de campo. Revisamos su lógica implacable, sus ideas clave, la recepción de las mismas en la arqueología y en la historia de la economía política así como su influencia en la arqueología prehistórica peninsular y su comunidad académica. Palabras clave: Antonio Gilman, arqueología marxista, Península Ibérica, Estados Unidos de América, prehistoria reciente, historiografía. 1.1. THE LIFE AND SCHOLARLY CONTRIBUTIONS OF ANTONIO GILMAN The idea of honoring the professional career of Antonio Gilman has been in the minds of the editors of this volume for many years. Thanks to a felicitous convergence of various circumstances, this commemoration first materialized as a conference session at the 24th Annual Meeting of the European Association

Not all who presented at the conference session were able to contribute to this volume. Furthermore, not all who have contributed to this volume were able to participate in the session. 1 

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He received his A.B. in Classics in 1965 from Harvard, later moving to Cambridge (UK) where he earned a B.A. in Prehistoric Archaeology in 1967. Married to Benedicte that same year, Antonio returned to Harvard, where he wrote his dissertation on The Later Prehistory of Tangier, Morocco (Gilman 1975). While completing his dissertation, Antonio took a position as Instructor at the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh for one year, and then moved to the Department of Anthropology at California State University, Northridge, where he taught and was twice Chair, until his retirement in 2007. There are many dimensions to Antonio’s career and thinking. One of the most distinctive is his Marxist approach, to which he has been committed since his graduate years. Antonio’s Marxism was certainly learned through the readings of Marx and Engels, but his approach to the archaeological record—of which the founders did not say much about—was mostly influenced by the readings of some outstanding archaeologists, such as V. Gordon Childe and Robert McCormick Adams, and anthropologists, such as Marshall Sahlins and Eric Wolf. Marxism was obviously not a mainstream approach among the overtly anti-historicist New Archaeologists of the US. Nevertheless, by 1974, the same year they completed their Ph.D. at Harvard, his lifelong friend Phil Kohl and Antonio organized a session on Marxist Approaches to Archaeological Research at the 73rd Annual Meeting of the American Anthropological Association. This explicitly Marxist session was remarkable considering a disciplinary context dominated by cultural ecologists and a country where embracing an unambiguous Marxist framework was uncommon. Anthropology was nevertheless changing. That same year saw the foundation of the journal Critique of Anthropology, while Dialectical Anthropology’s first issue came out in the following year. This issue included three papers with an openly Marxist approach to the archaeological record: Phil Kohl’s “The Archaeology of Trade” (Kohl 1975), Maurizio Tosi’s “The Dialectics of State Formation in Mesopotamia, Iran and central Asia” (Tosi 1976) and Antonio’s “Bronze Age Dynamics in Southeast Spain” (Gilman 1976). There, Antonio laid out what became his key approach to the later prehistory of the Iberian Southeast by using “a dialectical and materialist interpretation of the available facts, a method peculiarly useful to archaeology” (ibid.: 317). “Bronze Age Dynamics…” did not only lay out his materialist approach, but also showed some of his long-lasting interest in the details of the archaeological record, the matter of prehistory. Among them is his distinctive butterfly-collector approach to the radiocarbon chronology of prehistoric Iberia, already displayed in one of his always sharp-witted footnotes—a gilmanian genre

in itself—, where he details the probable context of one of the early dates for Almizaraque, and suggests that “the sample, taken from the vertical section after excavations, does not in fact date the Almerian levels of the site” (ibid.: 318, note 28). Although by 1975 the available radiocarbon chronology for the prehistory of Iberia was exceedingly sparse, Antonio had already noticed the key role that a robust chronology would have in framing prehistoric regional dynamics, as it in fact happened. This long-term commitment was instrumental in laying the foundations for the Spatial Data Infrastructure of Iberian radiocarbon dates (www.idearq.org), based on the Iberian radiocarbon database that he personally curated over many decades (and generously shared with friends over that time). His research was also driven by some of the practices that one could call processual, specifically in the importance he placed on hypothesis testing, data collection, and his concern with fundamentally materialist questions, such as the relationship between land use potential and social evolution. Hypothesis testing was important to him, and we often heard him critique a scholar’s work by “how could it be falsified?”. Indeed, this was one critique that Antonio leveled in his review of Lillios’ book Heraldry for the Dead: Memory, Identity, and the Engraved Stone Plaques of Neolithic Iberia and her thesis that the plaques served as genealogical records (2008) (Gilman 2009). Perhaps one of his key long-term contributions to the prehistory of Iberia relates to his landscape archaeology projects: his 1985 pioneering study published in the book Land Use and Prehistory in South-East Spain (with Thornes) and the longterm field project on the Bronze Age of La Mancha (Fernández-Posse et al. 2008). These works are models of how researchers should approach the spatial nature of the archaeological record.

Figure 1.1.  Antonio Gilman with María Dolores Fernández-Posse in Vila Real (Portugal), 1999. Photographed by Benedicte Gilman.

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Antonio’s anthropological training in the US, with attention to world archaeology, has given his work a decidedly comparative flavor. Those who know him know that he is frequently inclined to introduce himself as an archaeologist working on prehistoric Iberia, as an Iberianist, and there is certainly truth to this. But as Antonio well knows, things are not always as they appear. Although slightly over 20% of his articles relate to topics other than the late prehistory of Iberia, this percentage is inverted when it comes to his published reviews and comments. This fact is, no doubt, due to his encyclopedic knowledge of world archaeology, which is based on his belief in the original comparative project of Anthropology as the study of Humankind, past and present. It is also his belief in the key importance of History and the historicity of human societies that lies behind his commitment to Iberian prehistory. It is this background of materialist, historical, and comparative knowledge that makes Antonio’s analyses so compelling. Certainly, the systematic, comparative, and data-centered approach has been a consistent feature of Antonio’s career. Three key works can be highlighted. The first is one of his earliest published works (Harrison and Gilman 1977), where he and Richard Harrison, a graduate student with him at Harvard, compared the role of trade in the cultural trajectories of North Africa and Iberia during later prehistory. The interactions of prehistoric groups across the Strait of Gibraltar have received renewed attention, yet their political economic interpretation of this trade has yet to be challenged. In a second work, Antonio offered one of the few coherent explanations as to why the prehistoric trajectories of the Iberian Southwest (Portugal) and the Southeast (Spain) were different. He argued, for example, that there was no distinctive Bronze Age along the Tejo because “incipient elites of the mid-third millennium in central Portugal chose to aggrandize their power by a strategy of wealth distribution […] which fell victim to the changes of fashion and the vulnerability to import substitution which characteristically beset wealth distribution.” (Gilman 1987: 28-29). In a third piece, he contrasted the Iberian Peninsula and Aegean in a paper entitled “Trajectories Towards Social Complexity in the Later Prehistory of the Mediterranean”. In this work, he counter-argued the well-established functionalist managerial account for the development of hierarchical social systems, demonstrating “the viability of a class society in which elites are entirely nonmanagerial” (idem 1991: 167). Antonio’s work has been cited internationally, and its impact can be tracked outside the discipline of archaeology. Perhaps the clearest

case is his hypothesis on the emergence of institutionalized inequality, the so-called “Mafia hypothesis”, the core of which was outlined in his 1981 Current Anthropology paper “The Development of Social Stratification in Bronze Age Europe”. This paper, which has been the most cited of his works, postulated that a dependency bond can emerge “when capital intensification of subsistence production had proceeded to the point that leaders could add the threat of violence to their earlier promises of assistance without being abandoned by their followers”. This hypothesis had applicability in a broader geographical and chronological framework, and did not go unnoticed by many scholars outside archaeology. Among these scholars are the eminent sociologist Michael Mann in his monumental Sources of Social Power and, most recently, the anthropologist and political scientist James Scott in his 2017 book Against the Grain: A Deep History of the Earliest States. It is fair to say that Gilman’s hypothesis on the emergence of social inequality will stand as a key contribution to the social and economic history of humanity. But despite his coherence and consistency, Antonio has also shown a willingness to change his points of view when the data did not fit his expectations. This was made clear in his 2001 paper “Assessing Political Development in Copper and Bronze Age Southeast Spain”. In it, he argued that “agricultural intensification in Millaran and Argaric generated conflict, but did not generate a surplus sufficient to support an elite that could control that conflict” (idem 2001: 81). Iberian Copper Age elites had the possibility of pumping enough surpluses out of their commoners, but lacked the capacity to cage them. On the contrary, Southeast Bronze Age commoners were somehow caged, but lacked the surplus required to support long-term hereditary elites. Mutatis mutandis, this approach can well be used to explain many other historical contexts of emerging social inequality in Iberia and beyond. Antonio’s ideas on the origins of social inequality have paved new ways to understanding the social dynamics of prehistoric Iberia. His work has stimulated debate on stratification and the State in Copper, Bronze and Iron Age societies. His writings have promoted the study of social resistance and the ability of local communities to make their own history without the management or supervision of elites. In this way, his work has contributed to the study of historically contingent and particular processes, overcoming a blind, mechanistic and misleading evolutionism. His writings have also revived productive theoretical frameworks, such as Marx’s notion of Germanic societies. Finally, he has vigorously advocated for

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balancing theoretical proposals with archaeological analysis, for “it would be naive to assume that our arguments would be convincing based on such [insufficient] data” (ibid.: 79, our translation). Archaeological interpretation cannot be carried out without an exhaustive analysis of the available data.

in emphasizing change in their studies, archaeologists miss opportunities to study resistance. In the next section, the authors examine the impact of Antonio’s thinking and contributions on the prehistoric record from the Paleolithic onward. In “Perspectives on the Biogeographic and Cultural Adaptations of Early Humans During the First Intercontinental Dispersals” (Ch. 5), de la Torre and colleagues engage in broad-scale synthetic analysis and compare the earliest settlement of hominins of eastern Africa and China. In “The Middle Paleolithic Revolution, the Origins of Art, and the Epistemology of Paleoanthropology” (Ch. 6), Zilhão engages with Antonio’s writing on the Upper Paleolithic and his critique of biological and cultural determinism in order to explore the significance of symbolic behaviors by Neanderthals in the Middle Paleolithic and their implications to the ideological underpinnings of paleoanthropology. In “Explorando los sesgos en las cronologías radiocarbónicas” (Ch. 7), Vicent and colleagues discuss the Mesolithic-Neolithic transition of Iberia and its complexity due to marked regional variability in light of the database of Iberian radio­ carbon dates found in Idearq, an online repository that had its beginnings with a personal archive of published dates that Antonio maintained over decades, since 1982. In “Los caminos de la desigualdad. Releyendo la prehistoria reciente del noroeste ibérico” (Ch. 8), Parcero-Oubiña and his colleagues demonstrate the impact of Antonio’s thinking on the prehistory of Northwest Iberia, a region outside his primary focus (Mediterranean Spain) through an examination of resistance as a critical engine of social evolution.

1.2. SUMMARY OF BOOK CHAPTERS The contributions in this book reflect Antonio’s multifaceted legacy. Thus, in addition to being a tribute of his friends, each contribution collects, reinterprets, and expands some of the facets of Antonio’s work. The first set of chapters engages critically with some of the central ideas structuring Antonio’s work, including modes of production, functionalism, and resistance. In “Modes of Production Revisited” (Ch. 2), Earle and Kristiansen argue for a revamping of the Marxist concept of modes of production (MP) and trace how MP have been applied to archaeological settings. In “Towards Archaeological Theory: A History” (Ch. 3), Díaz-Andreu contextualizes the theoretical work of Antonio—and his identity as a functionalist sensu lato—within the broader landscape of changing archaeological theory, particularly during the 1970s and 1980s. In “Resistencia política e identidad relacional” (Ch. 4), Hernando writes about her ethnoarchaeological work with the Awá (Brasil) and Gumuz and Dats’in (Ethiopia) in which she examines the relationship between social inequality, resistance, and relational identity, arguing that

Figure 1.2.  Some of the participants in the session in honor of Antonio Gilman Guillén at the EAA, Barcelona, September 2018. (Author: Michael Kunst).

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The next set of papers engages with one of the central ideas in Antonio’s career—the question of social inequality and the state in Iberian prehistory. In “Where is the State in Portuguese Later Prehistory?” (Ch. 9), Lillios turns our attention westward toward the Portuguese archaeological record by examining the ways that Portuguese archaeologists have attended to the question of social complexity and evaluating the archaeological evidence for social stratification (and the state) in the Portuguese Copper and Bronze Ages. Beck, in her chapter “The Human Position” (Ch. 10) addresses the question of social inequality from a biological perspective, assessing the evidence for social patterning in diet, mobility, and violence at key Chalcolithic sites. In “Implantación y desarrollo de las estrategias agropecuarias en el sureste: la depresión de Vera (Almería)” (Ch. 11), Camalich and colleagues present new data and dates from Early Neolithic-Early Copper Age sites from the lowlands of Southeast Iberia (Almeria) that point to less aridity during the third millennium BC than previously recognized and the small scale of metallurgical production; these results challenge models that rely on water management and metallurgy as drivers of social complexity. Lull and colleagues (“The Chronology of the Structural Changes Between the Copper and Bronze Ages in Iberia”, Ch. 12) explore the temporality and regional variability of key cultural changes that occurred between the Copper and Bronze Ages, namely the appearance of single or double burials, the decreasing use of collective tombs, and the abandonment of Copper Age settlements, using radiocarbon dates selected from throughout the Peninsula. In “Cultural Resistance to Social Fragmentation: the Continuity and Reuse of Megalithic Monuments during the Argaric Bronze Age in South-eastern Iberia” (Ch. 13), Aranda and colleagues look at the continued use of megalithic monuments into the second millennium BCE/ Bronze Age in SE Spain and argue that these display evidence for resistance against the social fragmentation and exclusivity that was emerging in the Bronze Age. Maintaining the theme of continuity is the chapter by Montero-Ruiz and colleagues entitled “Reciclado o reutilización en la producción metalúrgica argárica” (Ch. 14) that discusses the role of metal recycling during the Bronze Age; this is critical to assessing the scale of metallurgical production. They argue that, based on the size of daggers, their elemental composition, and lead isotopes that recycling was not a significant factor and, thus, the relative scarcity of metal objects and weapons during the Argaric likely reflects an ancient reality. In “The Origins of Social Inequality in Prehistoric Europe: Rituals and Monuments to Con-

Figure 1.3.  Antonio Gilman addressing the contributors to the session. EAA Barcelona September 2018 (Author: Michael Kunst).

trol Wealth in the Bronze Age of La Mancha” (Ch. 15), Benítez de Lugo and colleagues discuss how sites of the La Mancha Bronze Age were integrated in a network of practices in order to access valuable resources, such as water (motillas) and the ancestors (at Castillejo del Bonete), which contributed to the rise of elites in the region. Moving northward to the Duero Valley, García and colleagues, in “Excepcionalidad espacial, actividad metalúrgica y molinos de granito en Carricastro (Tordesillas, Valladolid)” (Ch. 16), discuss the Bronze Age hilltop site of Carricastro and argue that its special qualities—including its size and visibility—were related to its control over trade networks and other sites where agricultural production took place. In “Project Au: The Archaeology of Gold” (Ch. 17), Perea discusses the evolution of Project Au in the context of a shifting economic landscape and theoretical perspectives in archaeology related to technology. In the chapter by Mayoral and colleagues, entitled “De la complejidad del registro de superficie hacia una historia agraria del paisaje” (Ch. 18), the authors present the results of their intensive surface survey in the region of Cancho Roano and its contributions to our understanding of the Iron Age and Roman period, suggesting that the region was characterized less by colonization but by the reorganization of indigenous communities. In “Sociedades ‘germánicas’. El Bajo Ebro en la Primera Edad del Hierro” (Ch. 19), Blanco examines the archaeological evidence between the Late Bronze and Late Iron Ages in northeast Iberia, with particular attention to households and kinship dynamics; employing the concept of heterarchy, the evidence suggests the existence of decentralized, unstable, and kin-based Germanic societies, and not class-based states. Chapa and Martínez Navarrete, in “La escul-

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tura ibérica y sus implicaciones territoriales” (Ch. 20), examine Iberian sculptural works in terms of their role in referencing space and territory through their raw material and source, their depiction of personages (mortal or mythical), and their display in sanctuaries in selected places. In “Costes de sumisión frente a costes de rebelión” (Ch. 21), Sastre and colleagues explore why social hierarchization did not emerge in Northwest Iberia during the Iron Age and Roman period, arguing for the important role of communal forms of organization. In “Dinámicas internas e implicaciones para los estudios austronesios” (Ch. 22), Cruz and colleagues present their geospatial studies of the archaeological settlement of Taiwan over a period of 6,000 years, showing progressive occupation of the interior with associated diversification of ecological regimes and cultural practices.

de Prehistoria, the principal journal of Iberian prehistoric archaeology. These last two long-term commitments are part of a longstanding friendship with members of the CSIC Department of Archaeology. Many members and former graduate students from this department have benefited from his wisdom, professional support, and personal affection. He is part of its academic community and institutional history. It is, therefore, appropriate that this volume is published in the monographic series of the CSIC Bibliotheca Praehistorica Hispana. This series was founded in 1958 by Professor Martín Almagro, whom Antonio rightly considers the key architect of the contemporary institutional infrastructure of Spanish archeology and the main modernizer of Iberian prehistory (Gilman 2018: 8). Antonio has always been an ally and dear friend to many of us. He has been instrumental in creating a strong and wide network of colleagues that are, above all, his good friends. To Antonio, our personal lives, families, and struggles have been of equal importance as our academic successes. Fostering these relationships has been the generous hospitality extended to us by Antonio and his wife Benedicte. Therefore, it is with particularly profound sadness and regret that the unexpected death of Benedicte, before the publication of this volume, prevents us from also acknowledging our gratitude and affection for her. This volume, hono­ring Antonio’s career, is dedicated to Benedicte, in her memory.

1.3. FINAL WORDS Gilman’s impact on different generations of archaeologists has been enduring and far-reaching. He has achieved this through his deep intellect as well as through his sociability, respectfulness, commitment to critical thinking, and sustained efforts to serve Iberian archaeology through various projects, including laying the foundations for the Spatial Data Infrastructure of Iberian radiocarbon dates (Idearq) and as editor-in-chief of Trabajos

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REFERENCES

Journal articles, book chapters, etc.:

Vicent, J. M., Martínez Navarrete, M. I. and Díaz-del-Río, P. (2020): “Una entrevista con Antonio Gilman Guillén. Primera parte”, Trabajos de Prehistoria, 71(1): 7-29.

2017: (Antonio Uriarte González, Carlos Fernández Freire, Alfonso Fraguas Bravo, Nuria Castañeda Clemente, Enrique Capdevila Montes, Ernesto Salas Tovar, Antonio Gilman, Isabel del Bosque González, and Juan M. Vicent García) “Una infraestructura de Datos Espaciales para la cronología radiocarbónica de la Prehistoria Reciente ibérica”, in Juan A. Barceló, Igor Bogdanovic and Berta Morell (eds.), Actas del Congreso de Cronometrías para la Historia de la Península Ibérica (IberCrono 2017), Barcelona, Spain, September 17–19, 2016: 209–25 [http:// ceur-ws.org/Vol-2024/].

ANTONIO GILMAN PUBLICATIONS Books: 2013: (María Cruz-Berrocal, Leonardo García Sanjuán, and Antonio Gilman, eds.) The Prehistory of Iberia: Debating Early Social Stratification and the State. Routledge, New York.

2017: “Archaeological Manifestations of Religious Belief in Southern Iberia from the Neolithic to the Iron Age”, in Pam J. Crabtree and Peter Bogucki (eds.), European Archaeology as Anthropology: Essays in Memory of Bernard Wailes. University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, Philadelphia: 95–106.

2010: (Primitiva Bueno, Antonio Gilman, Concha Martín Morales, and F.-Javier Sánchez-Palencia, eds.) Arqueología, Sociedad, Territorio y Paisaje: Estudios sobre Prehistoria Reciente, Protohistoria y Transición al Mundo Romano en Homenaje a M.ª Dolores Fernández-Posse. Bibliotheca Praehistorica Hispana, no. 28. Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, Madrid.

2015: “Social Evolutionary and Property Dynamics in Primitive Societies”, in Nuria Sanz (ed.), HEADS 5: Human Origin Sites and the World Heritage Convention in the Americas, vol. 1. World Heritage Papers 42. UNESCO, Mexico City: 87–93.

2008: (María Dolores Fernández-Posse, Antonio Gilman, Concepción Martín, and Marcella Brodsky) Comunidades Agrarias de la Edad del Bronce en la Mancha Oriental (Albacete). Bibliotheca Praehistorica Hispana, no. 25. Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, Madrid.

2015: (Verónica Balsera, Pedro Díaz-del-Río, Antonio Gilman, Antonio Uriarte, and Juan M. Vicent) “Approaching the Demography of Late Prehistoric Iberia through Summed Calibrated Date Probability Distributions (7000–2000 cal BC)”, Quaternary International, 386 (2), November 2015: 208–11. doi: https://doi.org/10.1016/j. quaint.2015.06.022.

1998: (Robert C. Hunt, and Antonio Gilman, eds.) Property in Economic Context. Monographs in Economic Anthropology, no. 14. University Press of America, Lanham. 1997: (Miriam Balmuth, Antonio Gilman, and Lourdes Prados-Torreira, eds.) Encounters and Transformations: The Archaeology of Iberia in Transition. Monographs in Mediterranean Archaeology, no. 7. Sheffield Academic Press, Sheffield.

2015: “Marxist archaeology”, in International Encyclopedia of the Social & Behavioral Sciences (2nd edition), vol. 14: 670–73. doi: http://dx.doi. org/10.1016/B978-0-08-097086-8.13037-5.

1985: (Antonio Gilman, and John B. Thornes) Land Use and Prehistory in South-East Spain. George Allen & Unwin, London (Reprinted in 2015 as Routledge Library Editions: Archaeology, vol. 26).

2014: “¿Estados en la prehistoria de la Península Ibérica?”, in Eduardo García Alfonso (ed.), Movilidad, Contacto y Cambio: II Congreso de Prehistoria de Andalucía (Antequera 15, 16 y 17 de febrero de 2012). Junta de Andalucía, Sevilla: 21–32.

1975: The Later Prehistory of Tangier, Morocco. Bulletin of the American School of Prehistoric Research, no. 29. Peabody Museum, Cambridge, Mass.

2014: (Juan Vicent, and Antonio Gilman) “Situando el Comunismo Primitivo en el registro arqueológico”, Boletín de Antropología Americana, 47 (enero 2011-diciembre 2012): 31–43. 23

2013: “Were There States in the Later Prehistory of Southern Iberia?”, in María Cruz-Berrocal, Leonardo García Sanjuán and Antonio Gilman (eds.), The Prehistory of Iberia: Debating Early Social Stratification and the State. Routledge, New York: 10–28.

2000: (Manuel Fernández-Miranda, María Dolores Fernández-Posse, Antonio Gilman, and Concepción Martín) “L’Âge du Bronze dans la Mancha orientale: variabilité des sites habitées”, in Jean Gascó and Françoise Claustre (eds.), Habitats, Économies et Sociétés du Nord-ouest Méditerranéen de lʼÂge du Bronze au Premier Âge du Fer (XXIVe Congrès Préhistorique de France, Carcassonne, 26-30 Septembre 1994). Société Préhistorique de France, Paris: 55–63.

2013: (Marcella C. Brodsky, Antonio Gilman, and Concepción Martín Morales) “Bronze Age Political Landscapes in La Mancha”, in María Cruz-Berrocal, Leonardo García Sanjuán and Antonio Gilman (eds.), The Prehistory of Iberia: Debating Early Social Stratification and the State. Routledge, New York: 141–69.

2001: (María Dolores Fernández-Posse, Antonio Gilman, Roscoe Loetzerich, and Concepción Martín) “Una aportación al estudio de los patrones de asentamiento durante la Edad del Bronce en la Mancha oriental”, in Vítor Oliveira Jorge (ed.), Actas, 3º Congresso de Arqueologia Peninsular, vol. 4. ADECAP, Porto: 225–34.

2008: “¿Qué podemos decir de la organización social de El Argar a partir de su cultura material?”, in Carmen Cacho Quesada, Ruth Maicas Ramos, Juan Antonio Martos Romero and M.ª Isabel Martínez Navarrete (eds.), Acercándonos al pasado: prehistoria en 4 actos, Museo Arqueológico Nacional, Madrid: 1-7.

2000: “El desarrollo reciente de la arqueología peninsular visto desde los Estados Unidos”, in Vítor Oliveira Jorge (ed.), Actas, 3º Congresso de Arqueologia Peninsular, vol. 1. ADECAP, Porto: 27–34.

2007: “L’impacte de Childe en la prehistòria espanyola”, Cota zero, 22: 81–83. 2004: “El Argar and Related Bronze Age Cultures of the Iberian Peninsula”, in Peter Bogucki and Pam J. Crabtree (eds.), Ancient Europe 8000 B.C.-A.D. 1000: Encyclopedia of the Barbarian World, vol. 2: Bronze Age to Early Middle Ages (c. 3000 B.C.-A.D. 1000), pp. 45–50. Charles Scribner’s Sons/Thomson Gale, New York.

1999: “Veinte años de prehistoria funcionalista en el sureste español”, Boletín del Seminario de Estudios de Arte y Arqueología, 65: 73–98. 1998: “The Communist Manifesto, 150 Years Later”, Antiquity, 72: 910–13.

2003: “El impacto del radiocarbono sobre el estudio de la prehistoria tardía de la Península Ibérica”, Trabajos de Prehistoria, 60 (2): 7–13.

1998: “Stratification and coercion in late prehistoric Europe”, Trabalhos de Arqueologia da EAM, 3/4: 263–67.

2002: (Antonio Gilman, María Dolores Fernández-Posse, and Concepción Martín) “Avance de un estudio del territorio del Bronce Manchego”, Zephyrus, 53–54 (2000–2001): 311–22.

1998: “Reconstructing Property Systems from Archaeological Evidence”, in Robert C. Hunt and Antonio Gilman (eds.), Property in Economic Context. University Press of America, Lanham: 217–35.

2001: “Assessing Political Development in Copper and Bronze Age Southeast Spain”, in Jonathan Haas (ed.), From Leaders to Rulers. Kluwer Academic/Plenum Publishers, New York: 59-81.

1997: “Como evaluar los sistemas de propiedad a partir de datos arqueológicos”, Trabajos de Prehistoria, 54 (2): 81–92. 1997: (Antonio Gilman, Manuel Fernández-Miranda, María Dolores Fernández-Posse, and Concepción Martín) “Preliminary Report on a Survey Program of the Bronze Age of Northern Albacete Province (Spain)”, in Miriam Balmuth, Antonio Gilman and Lourdes Prados-Torreira (eds.), Encounters and Transformations: The Archaeology of Iberia in Transition. Monographs in Mediterranean Archaeology, no. 7. Sheffield Academic Press, Sheffield: 33–50.

2001: (María Dolores Fernández-Posse, Antonio Gilman, and Concepción Martín) “Arqueología territorial: el ejemplo del poblamiento de la Mancha oriental”, in Marisa Ruiz-Gálvez Priego (ed.), La Edad del Bronce, ¿primera edad de oro de España? Editorial Crítica, Barcelona: 121–37. 2001: “Marxist Archaeology”, in James D. Wright, International Encyclopedia of the Social & Behavioral Sciences, vol. 14. Elsevier Science Ltd., Amsterdam: 9302–6. 24

1992: “The Iberian Peninsula: 6000 to 1500 B.C.”, in R. W. Ehrich (ed.), Chronologies in Old World Archaeology. 2nd ed. University of Chicago Press, Chicago: vol. 1, 295–301; vol. 2, 238–56.

1996: (María Dolores Fernández-Posse, Antonio Gilman, and Concepción Martín) “Consideraciones cronológicas sobre la Edad del Bronce en La Mancha”, in M.ª Ángeles Querol, and Teresa Chapa, (eds.), Homenaje al Profesor Manuel Fernández-Miranda, vol. 2. Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad Complutense, Madrid: 111–37.

1992: (David Lubell, Peter Sheppard, and Antonio Gilman) “The Maghreb, 20000 to 4000 B.P.”, in R. W. Ehrich (ed.), Chronologies in Old World Archaeology. 2nd ed. University of Chicago Press, Chicago: vol. 1, 305–8; vol. 2, 257–67.

1996: “Craft Specialization in Late Prehistoric Mediterranean Europe”, in Bernard Wailes (ed.), Craft Specialization and Social Evolution: In Memory of V. Gordon Childe. Monograph 93. University Museum, Philadelphia: 67–71.

1991: “Condiciones sociales bajo las cuales el cambio tecnológico es la causa inmediata de la evolución cultural”, in Pilar López García (ed.), El Cambio Cultural del IV. al II. Milenios a. de C. en la Comarca Noroeste de Murcia, vol. 1. Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, Madrid: 17–22.

1995: (Manuel Fernández-Miranda, María Dolores Fernández-Posse, Antonio Gilman, and Concepción Martín) “El poblamiento durante la Edad del Bronce en La Mancha oriental (prov. Albacete): hipótesis de estudio y primeros resultados”, Trabalhos de Antropologia e Etnologia, 35 (3) (Número especial: Actas, I. Congresso de Arqueologia Peninsular, vol. 7): 303–22.

1991: “Desenvolupament agrícola i evolució social al sud-est espanyol”, Cota Zero, 7: 136–43. 1991: “Trajectories towards Social Complexity in the Later Prehistory of the Mediterranean”, in Timothy K. Earle (ed.), Chiefdoms: Power, Economy, and Ideology. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge: 146–68.

1995: “Craft Specialization in Late Prehistoric Mediterranean Europe”, in T. Douglas Price and Gary Feinman (eds.), Foundations of Social Inequality. Plenum, New York: 235–51.

1990: “The Mafia Hypothesis”, in Thomas L. Markey and John A. C. Greppin (eds.), When Worlds Collide: The Indo-Europeans and the Pre-Indo-Europeans. Karoma Publishers, Ann Arbor: 151–69.

1995: “Recent Trends in the Archaeology of the Iberian Peninsula”, in Katina Lillios (ed.), The Origins of Complex Societies in Late Prehistoric Iberia. International Monographs in Prehistory, Ann Arbor: 1–6.

1989: (Manuel Fernández Miranda, María Dolores Fernández-Posse, Antonio Gilman, and Concepción Martín) “Le village de Cuartillas el la transition Néolithique-Chalcolithique dans le sud-est de l’Espagne”, in A. D’Anna, and X. Gutherz (eds.), Enceintes, Habitats Ceinturés et Sites Perchés du Néolithique au Bronze Ancien dans le Sud de la France et les Régions Voisines. Mémoire, no. 2. Sociéte Languedocienne de Préhistoire Montpellier: 85–92.

1994: (Manuel Fernández-Miranda, María Dolores Fernández-Posse, Antonio Gilman, and Concepción Martín) “La Edad del Bronce en La Mancha oriental”, in La Edad del Bronce en Castilla-La Mancha: Actas del Simposio, 1990. Diputación de Toledo, Toledo: 243–87. 1993: (Manuel Fernández-Miranda, María Dolores Fernández-Posse, Antonio Gilman, and Concepción Martín) “El sustrato neolítico en la cuenca de Vera (Almería)”, Trabajos de Prehistoria, 50: 57–85.

1989: (Manuel Fernández-Miranda, M.ª Dolores Fernández-Posse, Antonio Gilman, and Concepción Martín) “El poblado neolítico de Cuartillas en Mojácar (Almería)”, in Anuario de Arqueología Andaluza, 1987, vol. 3. Consejería de Cultura de la Junta de Andalucía, Sevilla: 31–35.

1993: “Contacto y cambio cultural en la prehistoria de la Europa Mediterránea”, Trabajos de Prehistoria, 50: 103–111.

1989: “Marxism in American Archaeology”, in C. C. Lamberg-Karlovsky (ed.), Archaeological Thought in America. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge: 63–73. (Translated as: “Meiguo kaoguxue zhong de Makesi zhuyi”, Tung Nan Wen Hua [Culture of Southeast

1993: (Concepción Martín, Manuel Fernández-Miranda, María Dolores Fernández-Posse, and Antonio Gilman) “The Bronze Age of La Mancha”, Antiquity, 67: 23–45. 25

1976: “La secuencia post-paleolítica en el norte de Marruecos”, Trabajos de Prehistoria, 33: 165– 207.

China], 103 [1994]: 9–16; “El marxismo en la arqueología norteamericana”, in Victoria D. Horwitz [ed.], Clásicos de Teoría Arqueológica Contemporánea. Sociedad Argentina de Antropología, Buenos Aires: 337–54 [2007].)

1976: “Bronze Age dynamics in Southeast Spain”, Dialectical Anthropology, 1: 307–19.

1988: “Enfoques teóricos en la arqueología de los años ochenta”, Revista de Occidente, 81: 47–61. 1987: “Unequal Development in Copper Age Iberia”, in Elizabeth M. Brumfiel and Timothy K. Earle (eds.), Specialization, Exchange, and Complex Societies. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge: 22–29.

1974: (AG, Paul Ossa, and Mary Pohl) “Multidimensional Scaling of Aurignacian Assemblages”, Miscelánea Arqueológica, vol. 1. XXV Aniversario de los Cursos Internacionales de Prehistoria y Arqueología en Ampurias, 1947–1971. Diputación Provincial de Barcelona, Barcelona: 339–51.

1987: “El análisis de clase en la prehistoria del Sureste”, Trabajos de Prehistoria, 44: 27–34.

1974: “Neolithic of Northwest Africa”, Antiquity, 48: 273–82.

1987: “Regadío y conflicto en sociedades acéfalas”, Boletín del Seminario de Estudios de Arte y Arqueología, 53: 59–72.

Reviews, comments, etc.: 2018: Review of James C. Scott (2017) Against the Grain, in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 75 (1): 181–83.

1986: (Antonio Gilman, and John B. Thornes) La Explotación del Suelo en la Prehistoria del Sureste Español. Fundación Juan March, Madrid.

2018: “25 años de evaluación por pares en Trabajos de Prehistoria”, Trabajos de Prehistoria, 75 (1): 7–8.

1984: “Explaining the Upper Palaeolithic Revolution”, in Matthew Spriggs (ed.), Marxist Perspectives in Archaeology. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge: 115–26. (Reprinted in Robert W. Preucel & Ian Hodder, eds., Contemporary Archaeology in Theory: A Reader. Blackwell, Oxford [1996]: 220–39)

2017: “Important new evidence on the Argaric”, review of Vicente Lull et al. (2016) Primeras investigaciones en La Bastida, La Bastida y Tiro del Lienzo (Totana, Murcia) & La Almoloya (Pliego, Murcia), in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 74 (1): 195– 97.

1983: (John B. Thornes, and Antonio Gilman) “Potential and Actual Erosion around Archaeological Sites in Southeast Spain”, in Jan de Ploey (ed.), Rainfall Simulation, Runoff and Soil Erosion, pp. 91–113. Catena Verlag, Braunschweig: 91–113.

2011: Review of Manuel Rojo Guerra et alii (2010) Zafrín: un asentamiento del Neolítico antiguo en las Islas Chafarinas (Norte de África, España), in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 68 (1): 207. 2010: Review of António Faustino Carvalho (2008) A neolitização do Portugal meridional: os exemplos do maciço calcário estremenho e do Algarve ocidental, in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 67 (1): 254–56.

1982: (Stephen M. Wise, John B. Thornes, and Antonio Gilman) “How Old Are the Badlands? A Case Study from Southeast Spain”, in Rorke Bryan and Aaron Yair (eds.), Badland Geomorphology and Pipe Erosion. Geobooks, Norwich: 259–77.

2009: Review of José Ramos et alii, eds. (2008) Las ocupaciones humanas de la cueva de Caf Taht el Ghar (Tetuán): los productos arqueológicos en el contexto del Estrecho de Gibraltar, in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 66 (2): 186–88.

1981: “The Development of Social Stratification in Bronze Age Europe”, Current Anthropology, 22: 1–23. 1977: (Richard J. Harrison, and Antonio Gilman) “Trade in the Second and Third Millennia B.C. between the Maghreb and Iberia”, in Vladimir Markotic (ed.), Ancient Europe and the Mediterranean: Studies in Honour of Hugh O. Hencken. Aris & Phillips, Warminster, Wilts.: 90–104.

2009: Review of Katina T. Lillios, (2008) Heraldry for the Dead, in Journal of Anthropological Research, 65: 648–50. 2008: Review of Almudena Orejas, ed. (2006) Arqueología espacial: espacios agrarios, in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 65 (2): 169–82. 26

1996: Comment on articles on “Agency, Ideology, and Power in Archaeological Theory”, Current Anthropology, 37: 56–57.

2007: “L’impacte de Childe en la prehistòria espanyola”, Cota Zero, 22: 81–83. 2007: Review of Kristian Kristiansen & Thomas B. Larsson (2006) La Emergencia de la Sociedad del Bronce: Viajes, Transmisiones y Transformaciones, in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 64 (2): 186–88.

1995: (Antonio Gilman, and Miguel San Nicolás del Toro) “El poblado calcolítico de El Capitán (Lorca): campaña 1987”, Memorias de Arqueología: Excavaciones y Prospecciones en la Región de Murcia, 3: 46–51.

2007: “Notas sobre la trayectoria científica de M.ª Dolores Fernández-Posse”, Trabajos de Prehistoria, 64 (2): 11–19.

1995: Review of Rudolf Nehren (1992) Zur Prähistorie der Maghrebländer, in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 52 (2): 171–73.

2006: Review of Rafael Micó Perez (2005) Cronología Absoluta y Periodización de la Prehistoria de las Islas Baleares, in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 63 (2): 178–79.

1995: Review of Martín Almagro-Gorbea, and Gonzalo Ruiz Zapatero, eds. (1992) Paleoetnologia de la Península Ibérica, in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 52 (1): 212–14.

2002: Review of Kurt Raaflaub, and Nathan Rosenstein, eds. (1999) War and Society in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds: Asia, the Mediterranean, Europe, and Mesoamerica, in Journal of Anthropological Research, 58: 176–77.

1994: Review of Jaime Alvar, and José María Blázquez (1993) Los Enigmas de Tartesos, in American Journal of Archaeology, 98: 369–70. 1993: “Historia y marxismo en la arqueología anglo-sajona” (Review of Randall McGuire [1992] A Marxist Archaeology), Arqcrítica, 6: 6–7.

2001: (Peter N. Peregrine, and Antonio Gilman) “Southern Mediterranean Neolithic”, in Peter N. Peregrine, and Melvin Ember (eds.), Encyclopedia of Prehistory, vol. 1: Africa. Kluwer Academic/Plenum Publishers, New York: 276–77.

1993: Review of V. Lull, Paloma González Marcén and Robert Risch (1992) Arqueología de Europa, 2250– 1200 a.C., in Trabajos de Prehistoria 50: 291–92.

2000: “Book Marks – Guest Editorial”, European Journal of Archaeology, 3: 265–67.

1993: Comment on Andre Gunder Frank, “Bronze Age World System Cycles”, Current Anthropology, 34: 410.

1999: Obituary for Keith L. Morton, in Anthropology Newsletter, 40 (1): 16.

1992: Review of María Isabel Martínez Navarrete (1989) Una Revisión Crítica de la Prehistoria Española: La Edad del Bronce como Paradigma, in Revista d’Arqueologia de Ponent, 2: 265–66.

1998: “Introductory remarks”, in Susana Oliveira Jorge (ed.), Existe uma Idade do Bronze Atlântico? Instituto Português de Arqueologia, Lisbon: 15–17. 1998: Review of Barry Cunliffe, and Simon Keay, eds. (1995) Social Complexity and the Development of Towns in Iberia, in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 55 (1): 194–95.

1992: Comment on Matilde Ruiz et al., “Environmental Exploitation and Social Structure in Prehistoric Southeast Spain”, Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology, 5: 245–47.

1996: Review of Ignacio Montero Ruiz (1994) El Origen de la Metalurgia en el Sureste Español, in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 53 (1): 180–82.

1991: Review of Robert Chapman (1990) Emerging Complexity: The Later Prehistory of South-East Spain, Iberia and the West Mediterranean, in American Journal of Archaeology, 95: 744–45.

1996: Comment on Gary S. Webster, “Social Archaeology and the Irrational”, Current Anthropology, 37: 619–20.

1990: Comment on Gary S. Webster, “Labor Control and Emergent Stratification in Prehistoric Europe”, Current Anthropology, 31: 349.

1996: Review of Archaeological Dialogues: Dutch Perspectives on Current Issues in Archaeology, in American Journal of Archaeology, 100: 441.

1989: Comment on Robert H. Gargett, “Grave Shortcomings: The Evidence for Neandertal Burial”, in Current Anthropology, 30: 182.

1996: Review of Elizabeth M. Brumfiel, and John W. Fox, eds. (1994) Factional Competition and Political Development in the New World, in American Anthropologist, 98: 181–82.

1988: Review of Graeme Barker (1985) Prehistoric Farming in Europe, in American Antiquity, 53: 205–6. 27

1982: Reply to Haskel J. Greenfield, Current Anthropology, 23: 325–26.

1988: Review of Allen W. Johnson and Timothy Earle, The Evolution of Human Societies, in Trabajos de Prehistoria, 45: 363–66.

1981: Reply to Ludwig Pauli, Current Anthropology, 22: 180–81.

1987: Comment on Timothy K. Earle, and Robert W. Preucel, “Processual Archaeology and the Radical Critique”, Current Anthropology, 28: 515–16.

1980: Review of David Whitehouse and Ruth Whitehouse (1975) Archaeological Atlas of the World, in Historical Geography, 10 (1): 16–17.

1987: Review of Lawrence G. Straus and Geoffrey A. Clark (1986) La Riera Cave: Stone Age Hunter-Gatherer Adaptations in Northern Spain, in Journal of Anthropological Research, 43: 376–78.

1979: Comment on Pieter van de Velde, “The Social Anthropology of a Neolithic Graveyard”, Current Anthropology, 20: 51.

1987: Review of Colin Renfrew and John F. Cherry, eds. (1986) Peer-Polity Interaction and Socio-Political Change, in Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society, 53: 500–1.

1978: Comment on Philip L. Kohl, “The Balance of Trade in Southwestern Asia in the Mid-Third Millennium B.C.”, Current Anthropology 19: 476–77.

1986: Review of Richard Bradley (1984) The Social Foundations of Prehistoric Britain: Themes and Variation in the Archaeology of Power, in American Anthropologist, 88: 498.

1977: Review of Michael Herity (1975) Irish Passage Graves, in American Anthropologist, 79: 720–21. 1975: Review of Stephen Bedwell (1973) Fort Rock Basin: Environment and Prehistory, in Antiquity, 49: 77–78.

1984: Review of Edward Sangmeister and Hermanfrid Schubart (1981) Zambujal (Madrider Beiträge 5/1) and Konrad Spindler (1981) Cova da Moura (Madrider Beiträge 7), in American Journal of Archaeology, 88: 72–74.

1974: Review of C. H. E. Haspels (1971) The Highlands of Phrygia: Sites and Monuments, in American Anthropologist, 76: 181–82.

1984: Review of Randall McGuire and Michael Schiffer (1982) Hohokam and Patayan: The Prehistory of Southwestern Arizona, in Antiquity, 58: 62.

1973: Review of Paul Ashbee (1970) The Earthen Long Barrow in Britain and Audrey Henshall (1972) The Chambered Tombs of Scotland (vol. 2), in American Anthropologist, 75: 1101–3.

1983: Comment on Vadim A. Alekshin, “Burial Practices as Archaeological Source”, in Current Anthropology, 24: 146–47.

1966: Review of Jesse D. Jennings and Edward Norbeck, eds. (1964) Prehistoric Man in the New World, in Ampurias, 28: 316–17.

1983: Comment on Stephen A. Kowalewski and Laura Finsten, “The Economic Systems of Ancient Oaxaca: A Regional Perspective”, Current Anthropology 24: 431.

1966: Review of Robert W. Ehrich, ed. (1965) Chronologies in Old World Archaeology, in Ampurias, 28: 322–23.

1982: Review of Peter Wells (1980) Culture Contact and Culture Change: Early Iron Age Central Europe and the Mediterranean World and Sarunas Milisauskas (1978) European Prehistory, in American Anthropologist, 84: 163–65.

1965: Review of H. M. Wormington (1957) Ancient Man in North America, in Ampurias, 26–27: 374–75.

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II. MODES OF PRODUCTION REVISITED Timothy Earle / Kristian Kristiansen

Abstract

Resumen

Encouraged by Antonio Gilman, archaeology has witnessed a partial return to materialist theories based on Modes of Production. Modes should never be thought of as a new typology; rather they are models that define political processes grounded in material conditions that result in contrasting social formations. These Modes can then be used to compare cases across prehistory and history. We recognize two vectors of variability in political processes: 1) scales of political formation (local community to regional polity); and 2) institutional means of resource extraction (staple mobilization to predatory extraction). Working from Eric Wolf’s seminar formulation, we distinguish two general Modes of Production: Kin-ordered Modes and Political Modes (a.k.a. Tributary Modes of Production) that represent contrasting political formations at the scale of communities vs. regional polities. We discuss how, at each scale, institutional formations of chiefdom-scaled societies used distinctive mechanisms for finance based on different revenue sources (local staples vs. distant wealth). Many theories of emergent complexity emphasize rising population densities as creating conditions of control over subsistence production. Archaeological research, however, in Europe, Central Asia, the Pacific, Africa, and the Americas are anomalous, documenting emergent social stratification and political control under conditions of remarkably lower population density. This alternative pathway can be called decentralized complexity that characterized much of Europe during the Bronze Age.

Con la influencia de Antonio Gilman, la arqueología ha sido testigo de un retorno parcial a las teorías materialistas basadas en los modos de producción. Los modos nunca deben considerarse como una nueva tipología; más bien son modeen los que definen procesos políticos basados ​​ condiciones materiales que dan lugar a diversas formaciones sociales. Estos modos se pueden usar para comparar casos a lo largo de la prehistoria y la historia. Reconocemos dos vectores de variabilidad en los procesos políticos: 1) escalas de formación política (desde la comunidad local a la entidad regional); y 2) medios institucionales de extracción de recursos (desde la movilización de recursos básicos hasta la extracción depredadora). A partir de la formulación esencial de Eric Wolf, distinguimos dos modos de producción generales: modos ordenados por el parentesco y modos políticos (también conocidos como modos de producción tributarios) que representan formaciones políticas diversas, desde comunidades hasta entidades políticas regionales. Planteamos cómo, a cada escala, las formaciones institucionales de sociedades organizadas a escala de jefatura utilizaron mecanismos distintivos para obtener recursos a partir de diferentes fuentes (productos básicos locales versus riqueza remotas). Muchas teorías sobre el surgimiento de la complejidad consideran el aumento de la densidad de población como condición para el control sobre la producción de subsistencia. Sin embargo, la investigación arqueológica en Europa, Asia Central, el Pacífico, África y las Américas muestra anomalías al documentar la aparición de estratificación social y control político en condiciones de densidad de población notablemente bajas.

Keywords: Modes of Production, political economy, comparative prehistory, decentralized complexity, Marxist archaeology, Eric Wolf.

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Esta vía alternativa se puede llamar complejidad descentralizada y caracterizó a gran parte de Europa durante la Edad del Bronce.

Antonio that these conditions were atypical of emergent complexity elsewhere in the European Bronze Age. In much of Europe then, although quite low population densities existed, selectively chiefdom-like societies developed. How was this possible? Holding a special interest for Denmark, cultivated by his enduring love for his Danish wife Benedicte Gilman, Antonio pointed me to the Danish BA sequence: “Have you read Kristian Kristiansen’s work? He is doing creative work, which parallels yours.” With Lotte Hedeager in 1983, Kristian first met Antonio during a USA grand tour, after the XIth International Conference of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences held in Vancouver, Canada. On Antonio’s suggestion, Tim had invited Kristian to a symposium there on specialization, exchange and complex societies in prehistory (Brumfiel and Earle 1987). Since then Antonio and Kristian have upheld a friendly dialogue, always stimulating but sometimes excited as Kristian’s World System approach and interest in diffusion were not at the heart of Antonio’s approaches. As a sign of their enduring friendship, Antonio took Kristian out into the field of southeast Spain to show locations and the economic logic of Copper Age and El Argar settlements. His research and the site visits proved incredibly valuable for Europe before History (Kristiansen 1998). Being in the field with Antonio was impressive, in more than one way: he would walk at high speed up and down the hills and ridges leaving Kristian and Lotte puffing behind, and his driving could be rather scary, as his Citroën 2CV would never go as fast as wanted during overtaking. We survived and have enjoyed a friendship across the decades, whether meeting in Denmark, Sweden, Spain or the USA. Good food and animated conversation, so important to Antonio and Benedicte, have always accompanied fine dinner parties and informal gatherings in a continuing friendship between our three families. We credit Antonio with forming the bridge between us, as he has continued to sit on our shoulders as a Marxist conscience during three decades of collaboration. Both of us consider ourselves Marxist archaeologists and are theoretically aligned with Antonio Gilman’s lifetime achievements. Kristian has developed more from a foundation in structural Marxism, as Tim has developed more from a grounding in processual archaeology. Foundational to our understanding of European prehistoric economies is Antonio’s “Germanic social formation” with its grounding in Marx’s analysis of Modes of Production (Gilman 1995). Our Current Anthropology article “The Maritime Mode of Production: Raiding and Trading in Seafaring Chiefdoms” builds explicitly on Antonio’s model to argue that commodity trading and raiding in

Palabras clave: modos de producción, economía política, prehistoria comparada, complejidad descentralizada, arqueología marxista, Eric Wolf. 2.1. INTRODUCTION As seen in other chapters of this volume, Antonio Gilman is perhaps best known for his substantial and theoretically informed contributions to Iberian prehistory. Our chapter, however, honors Antonio for his contributions to our personal intellectual developments and to Marxist archaeology generally. In the 1970s, when the importance of Marx’s historical materialism had been largely supplanted by a functional, adaptationalist model of prehistory, Gilman drew careful attention to the conflicting interests and power relationships in societies studied by archaeologists. Tim first met Antonio at Harvard in the 1960s, and we became friends and interlocutors from 1974 to 1995 while we were both teaching in Los Angeles. Antonio helped clarified Tim’s theoretical understanding more than any other colleague. Antonio read and commented at length on many drafts, including How Chiefs Come to Power (Earle 1997), and, over years of friendship, they have discussed formative ideas. Antonio was first to highlight Tim’s foundational debt to Marxism and, through the early stages of his career, guided patiently and fraternally his approaches to historical materialism. With two projects on the Hawaiian Islands and in the Andes, Tim was already something of an accidental comparativist, looking at the operation and evolution of strong leaders and social stratification. In both regions, chiefdoms and then states developed based on control of dense populations sustained by intensive agriculture with irrigation. The issue of control over staple production seemed fairly straightforward, as chiefs asserted property rights over productive facilities, to which others received access in returned for staples mobilized through labor contributions. Antonio’s research on the El Argar culture of southern Spain appeared to Tim directly comparable to what he had observed in highland Peru. In mountainous terrain with deeply entrenched rivers, Antonio described how sizeable fortified settlements were positioned in apparent defense of irrigable land below (Gilman and Thornes 1985). Like in the Andes, these hillfort chiefdoms appear to have emerged as corporate entities, for which chiefs served to defend the group’s lands and in return asserted rights to surpluses deploy politically. At the same time, Tim learned from

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the Bronze Age transformed European social formations into decentralized complexity based on flows of wealth through the hands of chieftains (Ling, Earle and Kristiansen 2018).  Stimulated in part by Antonio’s work, archaeology has witnessed a return to materialist theories with a foundation on Modes of Production and their deep roots in Marxism. Many theories of emergent complexity emphasize rising population densities as creating conditions of control over subsistence production; however, archaeological research in Europe, Central Asia, the Pacific, Africa, and the Americas seems to present an anomaly, documenting emergent social stratification and political control under conditions of remarkably lower population density (compare Kradin 2014). This pattern for an alternative pathway is what Kristiansen (2016) has called decentralized complexity. Modes of Production appear to offer a way forward to understand the alternative vectors of social formations that help to understand differences across prehistory’s independent and interlocked sequences of political evolution.

or revolutionary change. These Modes were not arranged by Marx into an evolutionary scheme, although subsequent work by Engels established stages of social evolution based on anthropological cases (Engles 1972; compare Morgan 1878). Eric Wolf (1982) has formulated the evolutionary consideration of Marx’s Modes of Production that have been useful to our thinking. For us, Marx’s conception of Modes of Production is inherent in the following quotation: Production creates the objects which correspond to the given needs; distribution divides them up according to social laws; exchange further parcels out the already divided shares in accord with individual needs; and finally, in consumption, the product steps outside this social movement and becomes a direct object and servant of individual need, and satisfies it in being consumed (Marx 1974: 89).

Fundamental to Marx’s understanding is to combine means of production and relations of production to formulate power processes. This unity of the economic, social, and political is foundational to our approach to political economies as dynamic human systems. For simplification, we combine his consideration of distribution and exchange into circulation as the cover term. We seek to update Marx’s original conception of Modes to advance theoretical understandings using the richly expanded evidence from prehistory. Central to our venture is Marx’s observation that several Modes of Production may co-exist in any socio-economic system, but that one will dominate. In his “Introduction” to Grundrisse, he states that “in all forms of society there is one specific kind of production, which predominates over the rest, whose relations thus assign rank and influence to the others” (ibid.: 106). A Mode of Production can embed other Modes within itself, as the village Corporate Mode subsumes household Domestic Modes of Production (Sahlins 1972) or as the Maritime Mode of Production (Ling, Earle and Kristiansen 2018) formed from pre-existing independent economic sectors by channeling investment and reaping differential rewards regionally. Modes can also exist in discrete economies linked inter-regionally by flows that create relative wealth and underdevelopment by hegemonic, inter-regional dominance. Marx articulated dialectic relationships between production, circulation, and consumption as a basis for his analysis of capital. His observations introduced a historical dynamic, and, or to us, it implies a focus on historical transformations; seeds of newly dominant MP are always to be found in preceding ones and the parts continue as an afterlife in subordinate positions. This perspective on interacting Modes through the articulation of production, circulation and con-

2.2. MODES OF PRODUCTION Modes of Production help us understand the alternative pathways to complexity. To begin, we have in front of us Europe’s prehistoric economies, by which we consider key relations that allow us to model specific modes of production and their articulations. Among these we consider the articulation between production, circulation, and consumption as presented originally in Marx’s introduction to Grundrisse (Marx 1974). We revisit here Marx’s concept of Modes of Production (MP) to expand its relevance in light of present archaeological knowledge. We and others believe that theoretical benefits can be harvested by employing Modes as cornerstones in a materialist theory for history, in which political economy forms central support (Earle and Spriggs 2015; Earle 2017a; Rosenswig and Cunningham 2017) Marx’s writings are often complicated and offer room for interpretation. He never defined Modes of Production, but used them to examine specific historical cases. From his early discussions in Grundrisse, he describes a list of historical Modes including the Asiatic, Feudal, and Germanic Modes of Production that predated the formation of the Capitalist Mode of Production. These represent specific means and relations of production based on technology, property rights, and resulting social formations with distinctive power relationships linked to their political economies. Each has particular dialectical relationships that have been responsible for stability

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sumption adds a spatial dynamic and implies a focus upon large-scale geographical interactions of regional economies within ancient World Systems. We turn to a definition of MP and discuss its variable articulations as usefulness for a Marxist understanding of prehistory with special reference to Europe. Modes of Production are the labor processes that extract, transform, and distribute resources to meet needs and to create power relationships. The labor process is always socially constituted, involving relationships between working individual and groups. It involves tools, skills, organization and knowledge, comprising relationships between working individual and groups. The flows and employment of goods create social formations with degrees of stratification and power relationships. Sidney Mintz remembers Julian Steward’s elegantly simply formulation of such relationships: “When a specific technology is superimposed upon a particular environment, the social organization of the local group sets the limits of any possible variation of political forms” (Mintz 2014: 499). This is the essence, we believe, of a Marxist approach to a comparative study of prehistoric sequences, as well illustrated by Steward’s student Eric Wolf’s (1982) reformulation of MP. Why did Modes of Production decline in analytical use by archaeologists, and why are they now being revived? From the beginning, Marx and more specifically Engels conceived MP as closely related to historical stages. Diachronic patterning of these social formations was largely hypothetical, based upon available fragmentary archaeological and historical evidence. With revival of evolutionary thinking in the 1950s and 60s, Marx/Engels/Morgan stages were redefined to represent increasing social complexity, creating static ethnographic-based social types, such as band, tribe, chiefdom, and state (Service 1962; Fried 1967). Using only ethnographic cases without detailed archaeological sequences to understand them, such typological formulations could be no more than pseudo-history. These unilinear stages have rightfully been critiqued, but with a regrettable abandonment of evolutionary thinking and its use of modes and subsistence strategies. But archaeology offers the opportunity to study actual long-term sequences of social evolution that represent parallel and interacting pathways of societal change. The way to approach social evolution can, we feel, be based on Modes as they existed in pre-modern societies as studied archaeologically, and the edited volume by Rosenswig and Cunningham (2017) illustrates well the potential for substantial archaeological investigations (Hirth 2018). The coming of age of archaeology as a rigorous, science-based discipline has fundamen-

tally revised evolutionary thinking. Looking at long-term sequences to understand alternative evolutionary pathways has rejected typological schemes and replaced them with more variable and dynamic models. In their seminal paper, for example, Friedman and Rowlands (1977) introduce ‘systems of social reproduction’ to consider societies involved in interregional relations dependent on long-distance trade, colonization, and center-periphery structures. Their model was soon applied to European and Eurasian prehistory (Kristiansen 1998; Kradin, Bondarenka and Barfield 2003), where D’Altroy and Earle’s (1985) concepts of ‘wealth’ and ‘staple’ finance and Blanton et al. (1996), of ‘corporate’ and ‘network’ strategies helped reconsider evolutionary trajectories within contrasting systems of social reproduction (Kristiansen 1998). These new processual concepts largely replaced MP and the previously popular evolutionary typologies. What is clear to us now, however, is that Modes, stripped of their typological tethers, comfortably co-exist within these newer conceptions to provide the basis to compare and understand different archaeological sequences. For example, the linkage of Modes of Production can enable multi-scalar regional, inter-regional, and world systems, where wealth and staple finance and corporate and network strategies were foundations of inter-linked political economies. A crucial theoretical concern is to describe how surplus labor and surplus wealth are generated and distributed. Modes are always to be understood as exploitive, whether of environments or humans; they are deeply embedded in contested social relationships of production. Controlling flows and employing goods provided the material infrastructure for social formations with degrees of stratification and power differentials. “Modes are manifest in social formations—i.e., societies and cultures in the process of becoming and dissolving” (Patterson 2014: 41). Our objective is to understand what MP do rather than what they are. Modes of Production should never be thought of as a new typology; rather, resulting in a range of social formations, Modes represent specific relations of production as processes grounded in material conditions (Rosenswig and Cunningham 2017). Each MP is an expression of structural relationships within the inherent plasticity of human economies. Modes are in constant flux and reformulation. Although modeled as specific means and relations of production, they are to be understood as systems creating novel relationships of power and inequality. Institutions organize production, circulation and consumption, which form relations of production (Kristiansen and Larsson 2005: chapters 1.2 and 1.3; Earle et al. 2015). Social systems must be considered regulated (institutionalized) and open at the

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same time, such that the connections between them can create World Systems (Friedman and Rowlands 1977; Wolf 1982), and agency must be recognized for all people positioned with differing relationships to production, even if agency changed according to altering historical conditions (Kristiansen and Larsson 2005: figure 169170; Blanton and Fargher 2008; DeMarrais and Earle 2017). Contradictions may arise between both different Modes and different institutions within a MP. This may lead to a redefinition of institutions and of relations of production through actions on a large geographical scale resulting in social transformations of one or several Modes of Production. While social formations are historically defined in time and space, a MP models the material relationships that can be employed to characterize different social formations and polities. Modes thus represent abstractions of material relationships in political strategies that can be compared across prehistory and historic cases (Earle and Spriggs 2015; Earle 2017a). Wolf’s (1982) tributary mode of production, for example, is a generalized concept based on elite property relations and surplus mobilization that can be applied to various historically independent cases of complex social formations without well-developed market systems. Modes of Production can best be understood within a multi-scalar model of agency and interaction, raising questions of the internal articulation of scales with distinct Modes possible both between and within different scales of political and economic action. In our model, different levels are dialectically intersected into each other. We consider a MP to dominate until the buildup of contradictions activate agency that lead to a redefinition of relations of production and released transformation. We now consider some of the key variables that fixed particular relations of production and how resulting variation in Modes of Production affected political formations.

densities. These variables, linked to studies of ecological anthropology, help understand the economic basis of daily life and its labor processes, dynamics of growth and migration, and potentially conflicting and coordinating interests and desires. Essentially, these variables create bottom-up processes, which form labor relationships in production and distribution especially at household and community scales. These dynamic processes do not inherently create stable formations of power and inequality. Institutionalization, however, does create such relationships as structured Modes of Production. Especially important is the institutional formation of property rights that assert how groups and individuals access the means of production (land, technology, and knowledge). Property is central to our analysis (Earle 2017b). Framed by property rights, social institutions shape the relations of production so basic to a Marxist analysis. Although property is a dynamic variable, it has firm grounding in social institutions and the physical building of landscapes with walls, ditches, terraces, houses, and monuments that provide permanency of human-landscape relations (idem 2004). Visible archaeologically, such property relations, were also materialized in settlement permanence, their internal arrangements, ancestral rituals and burial practice, and monumental landscapes. The materialization of social institutions set people in places and establish rules of inheritance. Thus, relationships to ancestors as seen in burial practices establish continued rights expressed ritually. Through inheritance, we argue, the structure of rewards from the political economy was formed. In describing Modes of Production, we recognize two vectors of variability in political process: 1) scales of political formation (local community to regional polity); and 2) institutional means of resource extraction (staple mobilization to predatory extraction) (fig. 2.1). These are closely linked to underlying variables of everyday life and to the formation of property rights and flows of wealth. Working from Wolf (1982), we distinguish two general Modes of Production: Kin-ordered Modes and Political Modes (a.k.a. Tributary Modes of Production) that represent contrasting political formations at the scale of communities vs. regional polities. To be of reasonable length, our chapter considers in detail only MP of nonstate societies, especially in Europe. We discuss how, at each scale, institutional formations of chiefdom-scaled societies used distinctive mechanisms for finance based on different revenue sources (local staples vs. distant wealth). These two vectors create continuous variation in poli­ tical strategies that can be modeled as particular Modes representing structural variants along these continua.

2.3. WORKING TOWARDS AN UNDERSTANDING OF DIVERGENT MODES OF PRODUCTION How do Modes of Production form and change? Many historical factors are important that we do not consider here; rather, we discuss key variables that seem to determine labor processes across historical cases. Means of production are important, but not themselves determinant. The means include factors that form particular subsistence economies. As captured in Steward’s previous quotation, these include the articulation between local economies, their extractive technologies, and population

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Figure 2.1.  Matrix of Modes of Production in Stateless Societies. Shown are vectors that limit possibilities for political economies and their social formations.

2.3.1. Kin-ordered Modes of Production

ceramic production), risk minimization, labor recruitment for specific tasks, and especially warfare (Johnson and Earle 2000). Households were self-organizing into local groups to solve these problems, and a variety of institutional group structures (clans, lineages, houses, tribes) formalized interhousehold obligations and rights. Property rights and specific labor processes provided the relations of production. Communities retained high degrees of political autonomy even when they took part in networks of trade, alliances, and ritual. The subsistence economies of Kin-ordered Modes of Production represent the full range of stra­ tegies and their combination, ranging across foraging, fishing, pastoral, horticultural, and permanent agriculture. These different subsistence bases created distinctive variation in population density, settlement, property, warfare and institutional relations that limited possible formations within the Kin-ordered Modes. We illustrate this as a continuum from the Corporate to the Germanic Modes of Production. Low-density pastoralists groups, not considered here, formed segmentary tribes organized for subsistence, raiding and defense of animals and grazing lands.

Local, small-scale polities were well represented across a spectrum from corporate agricultural villages to dispersed segmentary pastoralist networks. No institutionalized regional political control existed here over households and their local groups. The political economies of such polities were supported by Kin-ordered Modes of Production (ibid.). In simple terms, these societies represent what is often thought of as Neolithic societies. Polities remained decentralized with an emphasis on horizontal kin relations to organize economic relationships (compare Polanyi’s [1957] discussion of reciprocity). Households were the primary component parts of local polities. As conceived by Marshall Sahlins’ (1972) Domestic Mode of Production, households sought to retain subsistence autonomy. Most labor required for everyday subsistence activities, knowledge of tool making, and access to resources were retained within households. Although household goals were to maintain a high level of economic self-determination, total independence was impractical for several reasons including part-time household specialization (as for example in

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2.3.2. Corporate Mode of Production (CMP)

of animals and correspondingly on household (vs. corporate group) ownership of animals and farms. GMP typically existed on lands more marginal to intensive agriculture. Similar to pastoralist groups, males in the GMP were warriors raiding for personal wealth in animals and other things important for personal status. Leaders existed to help coordinate local groups in defense of their animals and land, but the authority and power of leaders were limited by their inability to control productive forces held by individual families. Some regional specialization established decentralized trading networks. As opposed to the CMP, Germanic Mode of Production can probably best be understood as anarchistic, with social formations focusing on the capability, even propensity, of individual actors and their household to self-organize cooperatively in diverse groups and coalitions as needed (Angelbeck and Grier 2012). Such societies have been called segmentary, much like pastoral societies (Evans-Pritchard 1940); they come together episodically at different levels of inclusion for defense, ceremonies, and other super-family work requirements, only to dissolve again into their segmental units. Edmund Leach (1954) captures well segmentary, low-density agricultural societies (gumsa social formation) as they existed historically in highland Burma, organizing especially for defense and ceremonial obligations. The GMP formed regional networks, orchestrated to some measure by chiefs, to obtain and maintain wealth and to defend property rights of participating, largely independent household farms. Chiefly power was restrained by the property system of free farmers. Modeling the Germanic Mode of Production, essential dynamics included: lower population density dependent on a significant animal component, raiding for animals as a mobile source of wealth and subsistence, individualized ownership of farm land and animals, dispersed community networks forming to seize and defend land and animals. Typically living in separate unfortified farms or small hamlets and burying their dead in single graves as marked by barrow mounds, the GMP emphasizes individual autonomy in farm life and the inheritance of land individually from particular ancestors. Archaeological examples of societies that can be modeled with the Germanic Mode of Production existed often on the peripheries of denser farming regions. In Europe, classic examples include Bell Beaker settlements, the Scandinavian long-house tradition, and other archaeological cultures especially on the Atlantic Fringe. Many low-density horticulturalists elsewhere would probably fit well this model, but such societies typically have low visibility archaeologically, and so are poorly known except were intensive rescue work has occurred.

Corporate Mode of Production models moderately dense populations living in villages dependent typically on farming or other subsistence strategies with capital investment in productive facilities (landesque capital) (Hayden and Cannon 1982; Johnson and Earle 2000; Håkansson and Widgren 2014). These are typical Neolithic communities so well known by archaeologists. Farming emphasized fairly short-fallow cropping that was largely handled by household-based labor. These subsistence strategies allowed for a moderately dense population. Some part-time, household-based craft specialization was common, as in ceramic or blade production, and goods were distributed over fairly short and sometimes longer distances by reciprocal exchange. Clan and lineage kin groups owned and defended land as corporate units, although households held specific kin-based rights to land. CMP subsistence patterns and linked property rights can be recognized archaeologically by permanent facilities including field systems, irrigation, and terracing. Headmen, bigmen, or chiefs led independent village-sized polities. Although some social differentiation by status was common, social stratification was restrained. Village-based polities could bud off to form new village polities or, as discussed below, expand by conquest to form regional polities. Modeling the Corporate Mode of Production, essential dynamics included sufficient population density to require subsistence intensification, a desire to defend improved lands, and forming community institutions to defend land as linked to ancestors. Typically living in close proximity within village walls, the CMP emphasizes groupness in many aspects of everyday life. Archaeological examples of societies that can be modeled with the Corporate Mode of Production include many tell and hillfort societies found around the world associated with the adoption and intensification of agriculture and the establishment of village life. Prime archaeological examples include the Neolithic and Bronze Age tell communities of the Hungarian plain (Kienlin 2015) and the hillfort communities of the Iron Age Castro culture of northwest Spain (Sastre 2008; Currás and Sastre 2020). 2.3.3. Germanic Mode of Production (GMP) Germanic Mode of Production models settled and largely self-sufficient household farms that owned improved agricultural fields and many ani­ mals (Gilman 1995). Animals were a moveable wealth, representing individual property, which required ample territory and so necessitated lower-density populations. The contrast between the GMP and CMP was based on the importance

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ples from its region’s farming families (D’Altroy and Earle 1985). Over-reaching chiefly property rights were established either by finance of facility constructions, including agricultural field systems and religious monuments and/or by regional conquest of neighboring groups. Chiefly rights to surplus, however, were always balanced by commoner control over family labor in staple production (Blanton and Fargher 2008). States often develop with corporate modes, which Marx labeled as Feudal and Asiatic Modes of Production. These Modes can be seen as representing a spectrum of agrarian state political economies that reflected degrees of central control associated with population density, engineered landscapes and associated property systems, urbanism, and central governance. Thus, under moderately dense agricultural regimes, the Feudal Mode was based on elite ownership of estates with castles dispersed across the landscape and only weakly controlled by a monarch’s central authority. States controlled revenue flows at a distance by conquest and/or intimidation requiring tribute. The Asiatic Mode was based on institutional ownership of irrigation systems, which supported a much larger local population that could be more tightly controlled by central power. Modeling the CPMP among chiefdoms, essential dynamics include higher population density than other polities of similar scale. These were dependent often on agricultural intensification, corporate ownership of land by chiefly institutions, and proto-urban and urban settlements made possible by concentrated population. Archaeological examples for CPMP exist world-wide in prehistory, as shown by central places in settlement hierarchies that dominated regional polities. A good protohistoric example is the hillfort Wanka chiefdoms of highland Peru (Earle 1997, 2005). These were corporately structured polities, in which leaders were not a separate aristocracy but rather warrior chiefs with strongly local identifications. Hillfort settlement hierarchies in Iron Age Britain or among the New Zealand Maori provide other good examples. Permanent central places often with monumental defenses, in conjunction with contemporary smaller, permanent settlements, signify such chiefly political formations. In a near constant state of intergroup warfare, size of armies in such polities best predicts success, such that larger central settlements, supported by richer improved lands, could mobilize larger armies to defeat smaller settlements that had not yet pledged loyalty. Central places were typically fortified, suggesting hard-point defense of property rights, and these properties were often improved by capital investment in agricultural facilities, such as the drained and ridged field system of the Wanka or the Celtic field systems

2.3.4. Political Modes of Production Associated with the formation of regional poli­ ties, the Political (a.k.a. Tributary) Mode is an overarching conceptual framework that implies some centralized regional control over communities and their households. Embodied in this Modal concept is the mobilization of surpluses in labor, staples and/or wealth to finance regional political institutions (Wolf 1982; Earle 1997). Basically, Kin-ordered Modes continued to operate at community scales, but they became imbedded and dominated to variable extent by a political order able to extract and distribute surpluses. The extent of domination and the reciprocal provisioning of services by ruling powers reflected revenue sources from local (staple) to distant (wealth), as discussed for traditional states by Blanton and Fargher (2008; compare Levi 1988). Linked to this were the contexts through which power was manifest—economic, warrior or religious spheres (Mann 1986; Earle 1997). The differences in strategies embodied higher vs. lower density populations organized across the spectrum of “chiefdoms, states, and empires.” We consider here the Political Modes that supported chiefdom-scale polities; however, we view differences between chiefdoms, states and empires as representing a continuous scale in spatial extent and institutional structure; Modes act as idealized formulations that demonstrate relational dynamics, but with continuous variations. Empires had the most extensive scales, but states maintained the most stable (‘sticky’) institutions. Characteristic Modes associated with chiefscaled polities embodied variation in finance that, we argue, was also basic to large-scale polities. We envision two rather different general processes in Political Modes based on the distinction between corporate vs. predatory (‘exclusionary’) strategies (Blanton et al. 1996). 2.3.5. Corporate Political Modes of Production (CPMP) Many regional chiefdom-like polities emerged across world history based on chiefly ownership rights in land and associated commoner labor (Earle 1987); we call this the CPMP. Such political economies were typically possible with higher population density associated with capital improvements in landscapes that bound commoners to their land. Mann (1986), for example, describes how irrigation systems effectively caged peasants in early Asiatic states. Conquest of land then involved capture of labor to make the improved lands productive. Corporate Political Modes represent a regional political economy of modest chieftain scale, extending over perhaps 100 km2 and financed by the mobilization of sta-

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of Europe. Irrigation systems were probably of particular significance in the emergence of regional, staple-base polities. Because social elites depended on local sources for their revenues, however, they did not typically form class distinctions marked by distinctive lifestyles as might have been manifest in burials. The manifestation of princely rulers is probably associated with the formulation of larger-scale polities that approach state structures.

We envision Predatory Modes as having particular characteristics depending on means of control at distances. Essential dynamics included low population density dependent often on subsistence economies that require dispersed settlements and individual ownership of productive technologies. Central places were either absent or non-permanent, contrasting dramatically with settlement hierarchies of CPMP. Most dramatic is the creation of a warrior aristocracy, marked by wealth and weapons. The dynamic control of these warriors was always problematic, dependent on chiefly ability to obtain and distribute wealth through binding systems of circulations. These Predatory Political Modes should normally be thought of as articulated with CPMP in emergent world systems. Archaeological examples for Predatory Modes exist world-wide, but their comparatively poor visibility makes them hard to study. Probably the best worked examples are from Bronze Age Europe and Asia, where population densities were often low and dispersed among campsites, farmsteads, and hamlets. Subsistence was typically a mixed farming and pastoral economy. A warrior class emerged as defined in the mortuary evidence by distinctive dress and associated items of warriors, such as razors, special clothing, and of course weapons (Treherne 1995). The development of warrior equipment includes weaponry (swords, daggers, spears, arrows, and armor) and high-mobile transport technologies (special horse and camel equipment, carts, chariots, and war canoes) provide markers of such political economies. Such items characteristically required both special materials (such as metals) and high levels of technical skills. As a result, weapon production by attached specialists could be controlled by elite sponsorship (Earle 2004) as highly specialized production became concentrated in or close to chiefly residences. Our case example of predatory modes is the Maritime Mode of Production (MMP) that characterized southern Scandinavia during the Bronze Age and historically during the Viking Age (Ling, Earle and Kristiansen 2018). We describe the MMP as a politicized variant of GMP that fused agropastoral and maritime systems into inter-regional confederacies. Although the agricultural sector of free farmers, as characterized the GMP, was foundational to the MMP, the most productive and improved farmsteads could be owned by aggressive chieftains and farmed by labor including local servants and slaves to generate surpluses. By financing with these surpluses the construction of large war canoes with their raiding and trading warrior parties, chiefs could channel wealth flows to create personal bonds of dependency between chiefs and his warriors. Mechanisms of expansion usually involved access

2.3.6. Predatory Political Modes of Production (PPMP) As a second general form of Political Modes of Production, we consider the emergence of complexity based on predatory extraction of distant revenue sources (exclusionary, in Blanton’s terms); what we call PPMP. Polities relying on these Modes controlled to some extent procurement and distributions of what we call wealth: preciosities, metals, textiles, cattle, and slaves. Such highly valued items were important in their political economy as status markers, as weapons of war, and as productive forces with slavery and productive technologies like plow teams. Based on control at a distance, this general exclusionary form is called predatory (Spriggs 2018). The bestknown ethnographic examples of these societies are the pastoral chiefdoms that controlled trade by caravans across the Sahara and Arabian desert. The emergence of pastoral chiefdoms through Central Asia provides other examples. The subsistence economies of such low-density regional polities ran a broad gamut from foraging through pastoralism, fishing, and/or horticulture. As neighboring agrarian states created demand for high-valued objects from a distance, predatory chieftaincies formed to control to some degree the movement of these wealth items, of which slaves were particularly important to the political economies of the advancing states. The establishment of a warrior class, typically from farming, pastoral, or even forager families, served to seize and protect wealth obtained at a distance through raiding, trading and intimidation. Typically, control at a distance required high mobility with effective transport technologies, such as war canoes, horses, or camels. The procurement of wealth then offered the opportunity for emergent chiefs to invest in these technologies and in the warrior raiding and trading expeditions from which the leaders could take a disproportionate share of wealth, which they could then distribute to bind warriors to their chieftaincy (Earle 2011). The formation of low-density expansionist pastoralists and forager empires fits well to exemplify how this can be expanded (Hämäläinen 2014; Kradin 2014).

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to flows of wealth in a world economy and could easily include colonization along lines of extraction and trade. Predatory states also formed by reconfiguring the Modes of predatory chiefdoms. Thus, the Bronze Age Hittite state of Anatolia probably fit in such a model, as it controlled nodes in a major trade system moving highly valued goods into the states of the Middle East with their corporately-based Asiatic Mode of Production. The Nomadic Empires of Central Asia can also be seen as highly complex forms of pastoral chiefdoms characteristic of a Pastoral Mode of Production that had an extraordinary range of political institutional formations (Kradin 2014). Even the imperial developments based on the Capitalist Mode of Production can be seen as a logical extension of the structuring of the Preda­tory Modes into imperial ‘world’ systems controlling largescale industrial production and the extensive markets for their distributions (compare Wallerstein 2004).

These would then be subject to possible combinations in particular social formations, with amplifying commentary as required (e.g., for the parasitical cases of your Predatory MP, or for the souped-up wealth finance of your Maritime MP) [Gilman, personal communication, 25 February 2019].

The point that we add is an additional vector of variation. Modes dependent on distant revenue sources, involving wealth, take on different characteristics from those based primarily on ownership of land and surplus staple production. These Modes dependent on distant revenue sources created the distinctive character of low-density complexity in both chiefdoms and states. Modes of Production, we believe, offer a way to look at social evolution operationally. As we describe them, Modes are not a new typology into which archaeological cases can be classified. Rather Modes model particular relationships and their dynamics in economies based on property, technology, and the labor process. As such, Modes represent points along continua of real political economies, and they can be combined within single social systems, as for example at different levels of integration between families (DMP), communities (CMP), and regional polities (CPMP), or between regional distinctive social systems, as, for example, in the relationship between predatory chiefly polities (MMP) that existed on the periphery of states, for which Feudal or Asiatic Modes of Production existed. We consider political economies to be plastic—mixing and matching different labor processes to maximize surpluses to use politically, to guarantee subsistence security, and to create social groups with particular cultural identities and conflicting interests. Social evolution is real. It represents the processes that channel change in social formations creating increased and decreased power relations. We can look at how processes of social evolution, as modeled by Modes of Production, provide pushes and pulls in changing economic and power relationships. We emphasize the creativity of human agents working for their personal and group interests, and how they work within material constraints of production and distribution systems that limit possibilities for particular formations. Some formations of Modal processes created relative stability, while others resulted in unstainable growth and instability. To capture these dynamics for societal change should be, we believe, a major objective of comparative research in archaeology. There is no single pathway for human history, and there is no end to history. Archaeology offers a potential for social science research on the deep history and potential directions of contrasting political systems (Smith et al. 2012).

2.4. CONCLUSIONS AND SUGGESTIONS We propose an agenda for archaeological research based on Marxist conceptions of Modes of Production as reconfigured with new research possibilities (Gilman 1995; Rosenswig and Cunningham 2017; Ling, Earle and Kristiansen 2018). Modes of Production capture two vital vectors that we foreground, and, as economic models, they offer the means to analyze substantive strategies to meet needs and objectives. Their structuring allows an understanding of how political economies created different social formations, especially as expressed in power relationships. As part of a broad theoretical approach, we emphasize that societies are made up of multiple organizational forms, at different scales, and with distinct interests and agencies (Levi 1981; Blanton and Fargher 2008). These additions to a political economy approach require us to balance bottom-up and top-down perspectives on agency to an understanding of social formations (Furnolt et al. 2020). After reading an earlier draft of this chapter, Antonio offered the following elegant formulation: Being an inveterate lumper, I would perhaps favor a more simplified rendition with three categories:  • A Domestic/Kin-Ordered MP (in which primary producers control the technology and the resources required for production). • A Tributary/Political MP (in which commoners control the skills needed for primary production, but must pay rent to gain access to the land they need).  • A Capitalist MP (in which commoners lack direct access to both productive technologies and resources).

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ropean 3rd and 2nd millennium BC Economies” by Kristian and Tim, an in-process chapter for Ancient Economies in Comparative Perspective (Poettinger, Fragipane, and Schefold, eds.). Comments on that paper by Antonio Gilman, Johan Ling, and Matthew Spriggs have been incorporated shamelessly and probably inadequately into the present chapter. Antonio also provided useful comments and corrections to the present paper.

An earlier version of this paper was presented in the session honoring Antonio Gilman at European Archaeology Association Annual Meeting, Barcelona (September 2018). We thank the session organizers Katina Lillios and Pedro Díaz-del-Río for this opportunity. Our treatment of Modes of Production was then used in “Modelling Modes of Production: Eu-

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III. TOWARDS ARCHAEOLOGICAL THEORY: A HISTORY Margarita Díaz-Andreu

Abstract This article provides a historical overview of the interest in archaeological methods and theory. Starting with nineteenth-century positivism, attention will be paid to a preoccupation with methods at the turn of the century and the appearance of a focus on theory in the 1930s. Moving from the UK to the US, the proposals made by the generations preceding the appearance of the New Archaeology paradigm in the 1940s and 1950s will be briefly described. The context that made possible the emergence of the New Archaeology is then explained and some ideas about when its might began to diminish will also be given. The ultimate aim of this article is to serve as a context for understanding the situation of theoretical archaeology at the time in which Antonio Gilman learned about the profession and practiced it. The article finishes with some thoughts on archaeological paradigms.

de esta y se sugieren algunas ideas sobre cuándo comenzó a disminuir su poderío. El objetivo último de este artículo es contextualizar la situación de la arqueología teórica en el momento en que Antonio Gilman se inició en la disciplina y trabajó en ella como profesional. El artículo termina con algunas reflexiones sobre los paradigmas arqueológicos. Palabras clave: teoría, arqueología teórica, Nueva Arqueología, metodología, paradigma arqueológico. 3.1. INTRODUCTION Antonio Gilman’s work is an excellent example of the potential of applying functionalist approaches (sensu lato, cf. Gilman 2001: 80) to archaeology, in particular to that of late prehistory on the Iberian Peninsula (Gilman 1975; Gilman and Thornes 1985; Gilman 1987; Gilman 1991; Gilman 2001; Fernández-Posse et al. 2008). Functionalism was one of the main theoretical bases of New Archaeology, a new way of thinking about the past and of practicing archaeology that emerged in the US in the 1960s, which he learned during his graduate years at Harvard in the 1970s. This article aims to reflect on the origin of the interest in archaeological theory in order to contextualize how it was that archaeology came to be understood in the way Antonio Gilman—and many of us—did and, up to a point, still do. I will leave for another occasion an overview of how the new tenets arrived in Spain (a subject that has, in any case, recently been covered by Víctor Fernández 2016), as well as Gilman’s specific contribution to our way of practicing archaeology and to Marxist archaeol-

Keywords: theory, theoretical archaeology, New Archaeology, methodology, archaeological paradigm. Resumen Este artículo ofrece una visión histórica sobre el interés por los métodos y la teoría arqueológica. Tras una breve explicación del positivismo del siglo xix, presta entonces atención a la preocupación por los métodos que caracterizó el cambio de siglo y a la aparición de un enfoque teórico en la década de 1930. Trasladándonos del Reino Unido a los Estados Unidos, se describen brevemente las propuestas de las generaciones de las décadas de 1940 y 1950 anteriores a la aparición del paradigma de la Nueva Arqueología. A continuación se describe el contexto que hizo posible el surgimiento

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ogy. The article will end with a reflection on the social context of archaeological paradigms. The exercise undertaken in these pages, a search for the emergence and establishment of an interest in archaeological theory, seems particularly relevant nowadays. Since the 2000s, archaeology has witnessed a decline in the presence of theoretical debates. Today there are some who even claim there is a need for archaeologists to become more “descriptive” (and less theoretical) (Olsen 2012: 15-17, 27; Pétursdóttir and Olsen 2018), while others have outrightly predicted the demise of archaeological theory (Bintliff and Pearce 2011). I also revealed a certain preoccupation with the state of theory in the UK when I organized TAG in Durham in 2009 and chose “The Death of Theory?” as the title for the plenary session. Incidentally, as the head of the scientific committee of that meeting, I had to remind many of those proposing sessions that TAG was about theory and that session abstracts should reflect precisely that. In any case, this apparent lack of concern with theory has come together with the appearance of a decreasing small group of scholars who have embraced a dazzling diversity of new theories (Lewis 2018), many of them with an anthropological flavor, but who find it difficult to adapt them to archaeology. Not all is lost, however. Even if the lengthy and convoluted articles about theory and nothing else have practically disappeared from the literature, we could perhaps see this as a sign that the old lessons have been learned and are now perceived as unnecessary. It would even be possible to see Kristian Kristiansen’s (2014) new enthusiasm for the role of science in archaeology not as opposition to theory (although he rails against what he calls exoteric theoretical models), but as part of a program to produce more reliable, preferably theoretically-informed, evidence. This chapter will focus on a diachronic account about the attention paid to methods and theory in archaeology, starting with an early interest in positivism in the nineteenth century, which took archaeologists to emphasize terms such as evidence, principles, laws, hypotheses and even theories. All that led, at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century, to a concern for methods. It will continue with how this interest in methods persuaded scholars of the need for theory, and how each new generation made new proposals that were ultimately received by New Archaeology. A note of caution is needed here: it should be taken into account that terms like New Archaeology are used here on the understanding that they need to be vague, as closer study would immediately reveal that there were as many New Archaeologies as there were new archaeologists. The history presented here takes into account some external factors that provide an insight into

the context in which theory developed in archaeology: friendships, politics, and even changes in the numbers of students at universities. In this context some thoughts on archaeological paradigms will be provided in the concluding section. 3.2. POSITIVISM, FRIENDSHIPS, AND METHODS One of the axioms of New Archaeology was positivism. Although this philosophical perspective had its roots in the eighteenth century, the point of departure for this article will be its nineteenth-century form. In the second half of that century there was a feeling of radical change in the way scientific enquiry was understood. On the one hand, it was considered that knowledge should have an empirical basis and be objective. On the other, facts had to be verifiable and subject to testing, and experimentation followed methods akin to those developed by the natural sciences. The study of the human past did not remain unaffected and authors maintained that knowledge had to come from evidence. This was the opinion of the British geologist and Paleolithic specialist, Joseph Prestwich, who, in 1858, following paleontologist Hugh Falconer announcing his find of some worked flints at Brixham, wrote: “I quite agree with you that there is now much evidence tending in the same direction – so much that there is hope that, if true, it may receive some unmistakable corroboration: but until we have that, and that I have myself worked on the ground and looked at all the bearings, I hesitate and wait” (Prestwich 1899: 117 in Gamble and Kruszynski 2009: 465, my emphasis in italics). Prestwich aimed to find the mentioned ‘unmistakable corroboration’ in his visit to the site by establishing the following facts: “1, the artificial nature of the Flint-implements; 2, their occurrence in undisturbed ground; 3, their contemporaneity with the extinct animals; and 4, their postglacial origin” (Prestwich 1864: 247). As seen in Prestwich’s quote above, evidence became a key term, one that appeared in titles such as Charles Lyell’s The Geological Evidences of the Antiquity of Man (Lyell 2003 [1863]) and Thomas Huxley’s Evidence as to Man’s Place in Nature (Huxley 1990 [1863]). For his part, Lubbock mentioned what he called ‘a new Science’. As he put it: Of late years a new branch of knowledge has arisen; a new Science has, so to say, been born among us, which deals with times and events far more ancient than any of those which have yet fallen within the province of the archaeologist… [For this new science the] methods of examination which have proved so successful in geology, should not also be used to throw light on the history of man in pre-historic times. Archaeology forms, in fact, the link between geology and history (Lubbock 1865: 1).

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The reconstruction of the prehistoric period was made possible by the careful study of different types of evidence, such as burial mounds, peat bogs, Danish shell middens, Swiss lake dwellings, occupied caves and river drift gravels (ibid.). All these authors frequently used terms like ‘theory’ and ‘hypothesis’. They also occasionally referred to methods they had borrowed from geology— periodification, stratigraphy and analogy (Van Riper 1993: chapter 7). In Britain, followers of the New Science established new friendships—such as that between John Evans (1823-1908) and John Lubbock (1834-1913)—and gathered in new associations like the exclusive X-Club set up in 1864 of which Lubbock was a member. As a group, they followed practices such as systematic collecting, use of material culture as empirical evidence and a willingness to preserve evidence. They also helped each other academically, assisting the advancement of their peers in a series of academic institutions (Barton 1990; Owen 2008). Principles, laws and theories were all to be found in this text by one of the members of that group, Pitt Rivers (1827-1900):

be able to deduce chronological periods (successive ages) and sequences. He described the nature of evidence that archaeologists had to pursue in legalistic terms. As he put it: “in examining legal evidence we see that it all falls under one of four heads—(1) witnesses, (2) material objects, (3) exhaustion, and (4) probabilities. These four kinds of evidence are of very different values; any one of them may be stronger than the others in a given case, and each kind has its own special weakness” (ibid.: 167). The book finished with two chapters that seemed to be at odds with the rest of the volume: an interesting chapter XIII on “ethics” that deserves further analysis in a future article, and chapter XIV, a rather poetic excerpt on “the fascination of history”. 3.3. FROM METHOD TO THEORY— FROM EUROPE TO AMERICA In 1935, the Edinburgh professor, Gordon Childe, published Changing Methods and Aims in Prehistory. The title closely followed that of Petrie’s 1904 book but had little to do with it. Childe indicated that the first step for making archaeology a science was to establish a systematic and significant classification for its materials and that it was essential to provide some indication of chronology. Classification, however, had an aim: to ascertain how materials had enabled man (sic) to cope with his environment. He contended that the concept of ‘culture’—a functional conception of a culture—was an important one, and that cultures had to be studied as functioning organisms. He argued that the Austrian culture-historical school proposal of culture cycles (sic, meaning ‘circles’) deserved most serious consideration, but that the method tended “to isolate the culture from the environment to which it is an adaptation, and so to ignore function” (Childe 1935: 14). As he put it, “Menghin insists so strongly on an axe as an expression of a historical tradition that the reader may forget that it is an implement for felling trees” (ibid.: 14). Childe proposed that, for the study of cultures, an examination of the economic and social aspects of technology was needed. In British archaeology these ideas would be further developed by Grahame Clark in Archaeology and Society (1939) (see Fagan 2001; Marciniak and Coles 2010). Childe did not talk about theories, but about schools (he mentioned an ill-defined English school and the aforementioned Austrian culture-historical school). This contrasted with an article published a year later under the title “Some Reflections on the Method and Theory of the Kulturkreislehre”, written by Clyde Kluckhohn (1905-1960) (Kluckhohn 1936). The young American anthropologist started his work alluding to theory in a novel way

If the principles which I have enunciated [on the ‘evolution of culture’] are sound, they must be applicable to the whole of the arts of mankind and to all time. If it can be proved that a single art, contrivance, custom or institution sprung into existence in violation of the law of continuity, and was not the offspring of some prior growth, it will disprove my theory. If in the whole face of nature there is undoubted evidence of any especial fiat of creation having operated capriciously, or in any other manner than by gradual evolution and development, my principles are false (Pitt Rivers 1868: 435-436).

Nineteenth-century positivism led to a focus on methods, as seen in the creation of new posts such as the John Rankin Lectureship of Methods and Practice in Archaeology at the University of Liverpool. Established in 1905, it was converted into a chair in 1906 (James 2012: 27). Importantly, this concern with methods was reflected in the many books published at the turn of the twentieth century, including, for example, those by Howorth (1898) and Fitch (1900), and in archaeology Flinders Petrie’s (1853-1942) volume on Methods and Aims in Archaeology. As Petrie explained in the preface, he had written this book as “reference for those engaged in actual work” although the book would also “serve to give the public a view of the way in which this work is done, the mode in which results are obtained, the ends which are pursued, and the important questions which must be considered” (Petrie 1904: x). The volume mainly focused on field archaeology methods during the excavation and post-excavation phases. Chapter XI was entitled “Systematic archaeology” and in it he insisted on the need for a corpus to describe objects and to

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that not even Alfred Kroeber (1876-1960) had done the previous year in the article that had started the debate on theory in American anthropology (Kroeber 1935) and to which Kluckhohn was reacting. He explained that:

and attended the Conference of Arts and Sciences organized on the occasion of the Harvard University tercentenary (Childe 1937a). A year later, Childe was awarded an honorary Doctor of Science degree by the University of Pennsylvania and attended the Symposium on Early Man organized to mark the 125th anniversary of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia (idem 1937b, 1937c, 1937d). Finally, in 1939 Childe taught as a visiting professor in the summer season of the University of California at Berkeley, where Alfred Kroeber and Kluckhohn worked (Green 1981: 87). In that year, the latter published a series of articles insisting yet again on the need for theory in anthropology (Kluckhohn 1939a, 1939b; 1940). One of these articles was published in the British journal Man (idem 1939b), something we suspect Childe himself may have organized, given his close connections with the journal’s editor, John Myres (Díaz-Andreu 2009).

Professor Kroeber has recently discussed in an interesting manner the background of the anthropological theory of Professor Boas. It would seem useful to place other theoretical viewpoints in a wider context, for in those systematic studies where the data are human beings or products of the activity of human beings it is of peculiar importance that the student should be aware of the explicit and implicit assumptions upon which a given conceptual scheme is based (Kluckhohn 1936: 157, my emphasis).

And continued: It is a naïve fallacy to suppose that philosophy of method is irrelevant to the central problems of the disinterested research student. Clearly, the sheer denial of “metaphysical” presuppositions constitutes in itself a sweeping assertion of a philosophical view of the world. The ‘facts’ do not ‘speak for themselves.’ They have meaning only when ordered in terms of a system of categories, and any system of categories is inevitably bound up with definite assumptions about the nature of things … In such a subject as cultural anthropology method and theory are so intimately and immediately related both to the subject matter itself and to the student’s own fundamental attitudes that it is imperative to examine the connections of a particular method and theory with more general systems of thought. (ibid.: 157, my emphasis).

3.4. THE VITAL, INGENIOUS AND IMAGINATIVE GENERATION OF THE LATE 1930S AND 1940S In the 1930s, American archaeology underwent a huge growth, ironically thanks to the profound economic crisis caused by the Wall Street Stock Market Crash of 1929. This is because the New Deal program of public works designed to stimulate the economy led to many new jobs being created in archaeology. The increase in the workforce allowed the entry into the profession of a younger generation who, in the words of anthropologist Frederick Johnson (1904-1994), “in large part took over from the older one without being restricted unduly by them…Much of the progress since 1935 stems from the vitality, ingenuity, and imagination of this dedicated generation of archaeologists” (Johnson 1961: 3). This generation, which had been born between 1900 and 1915, showed a marked interest in theoretical issues. Kluckhohn’s article of 1936 already discussed in the previous section, was a precedent. In the literature produced by the members of this younger generation it is possible to trace a search for functional interpretations, paying attention to geographical, social and economic contexts and the function of archaeological objects (Steward and Setzler 1938; Kluckhohn 1940; Bennett 1943). One member of this generation was Julian Steward, who dared to leave aside culture history to propose an ecological approach for understanding the social organization of the prehistoric Western Pueblo. His article was rejected by American Anthropologist and finally published in Anthropos, a European (German) journal (Longacre 2000: 291). In the introduction he stated that:

Kluckhohn’s article dealt with a topic not too distant from Childe’s (1935). Like Childe, the American anthropologist dealt with the Kulturkreislehre (culture circles) of the Wiener Schule (sic, i.e., the Vienna School). He looked at the main concepts, its theoretical premises and assumptions, and examined the arguments put forward by critical anthropologists coming from more than one school of thought. Among the latter, he included Dixon’s in his The Building of Cultures (1928) and those of the functionalists—Malinowski and Radcliffe-Brown. Although Kluckhohn’s analysis was directed at anthropology, he also mentioned archaeology on about ten occasions (Kluckhohn 1936: 158, 159n, 160, 163, 164, 170n, 180n, 189n, 196). Tangentially, it may be interesting to note that international connections were very strong in the early years of the century (Vincent 1990: 81-82) and at that time we can still see them working between the UK and the US. In fact, Childe travelled to the US in the 1930s, specifically three times between 1936 and 1939. It has been argued that he influenced Kroeber (ibid.: 189) and was later himself influenced by White (Peace 1988: 425). In 1936 he received the honorary degree of Doctor of Letters from Harvard University 46

The present analysis of Southwestern society assumes that cultural process, and therefore sound historical reconstruction, can be understood only if due attention is paid to the economic or ecological factors that shape society. This is not a position of extreme economic determinism but rather an enquiry as to the degree and manner in which economic factors have combined with kinship, ceremonialism, inheritance, and the other factors ordinarily stressed, to produce observed social patterns. This cannot be called functionalism, for the importance of historical depth is not denied (Steward 1937: 88).

His analysis attempted to account for a shift from a patrilineal and patrilocal organization to a matrilineal and matrilocal one at the time the economy changed from hunting and foraging to agriculture. Despite Steward and Kluckhohn’s efforts, many years later a philosopher of science interested in the history of New Archaeology, Lester Embree, would state that Walter Taylor had been the first archaeologist to write on theory (Embree 1992: 291) (but see Longacre 2000: 292). Although, as we have seen, this is not completely correct, it is true that many of those writing in the 1950s and 1960s often mentioned Taylor’s work. Importantly, Lewis Binford himself referred to Taylor’s A Study of Archaeology (1948) in a way that implied the pioneering nature of his work (Binford and Binford 1968: passim) (but see Deetz 1988). In 1948, Walter Taylor (1913-1997), one of Clyde Kluckhohn’s disciples, published a book resulting from his doctoral dissertation read at Harvard five years earlier, in 1943. Just on the first page of the introduction he alluded to theory four times. He aimed to offer a scheme “which purports to serve as the conceptual structure of a discipline” (Taylor 1948: 2). This was needed because of the ‘unhealthy state’ in which the discipline found itself. As he explained “in the following pages, I shall use the concepts theory, method, and technique according to the definitions stated by Kluckhohn in his paper on ‘The Conceptual Structure in Middle American Studies’” (ibid.: 5) and repeated Kluckhohn’s words: the category theory refers to the conceptual framework of a single discipline; the category method refers to the sheer analysis and ordering of data (as opposed to the formulation of abstract concepts in terms of which such ordering is carried on); Technique is distinguishable from method only in so far as method involves the interrelations and consistency of a number of techniques. For example, archaeological method encompasses a number of techniques such as surveying, photographing, field cataloging and the like (Kluckhohn 1940: 43-44, in Taylor 1948: 5).

He criticized the comparative or taxonomic approach of American archaeology and proposed instead what he called the ‘conjunctive approach’ in which diet, settlement patterns, tools and oth47

er elements were studied in combination, resulting in a holistic view of the past (Taylor 1948). He was “primarily interested in the interrelationships which existed within a particular cultural entity” and not so much in “the comparative approach that occupies itself primarily with data which have relationships outside the cultural unit and attempts to place the newly discovered material in taxonomic or other association with extra-local phenomena” (ibid.: 4). Walter Taylor’s critique of the archaeology of the time was too obviously disparaging to be well received among established archaeologists (Christenson 1989: 164-165). However, it did provoke discussion. The first to react to Taylor’s plea was an outsider, the archaeology professor at Oxford, Christopher Hawkes, who was spending the autumn of 1953 at the Peabody Museum at Harvard as a McCurdy Lecturer in Old World Prehistory. Hawkes was invited to give the keynote lecture at the second Wenner-Gren Foundation Regional Supper Conference at Harvard on 6 November of that year. The theme to be discussed at the conference was method and theory in archaeology and this encouraged him to produce one of the few explicitly theoretical articles of his whole career: “Archaeological theory and method: some suggestions from the Old World” (Hawkes 1954). In his essay Hawkes mentioned that: At any rate my starting point will be familiar to American readers, namely, Walter W. Taylor’s book A Study of Archaeology, which is concerned mainly with New World archeology. As an Old World archeologist, I am of course not competent to assess or criticize Taylor’s detailed contentions in this book. But all readers will know the general objection that he raised in it against New World archeology, for having limited itself to what he called “mere chronicle” – an almost exclusive preoccupation with charting the connections, in space and time, of the types of archeological material obtained from sites (ibid.: 155).

In his article, Hawkes proposed that there were four degrees of difficulty in reasoning in archaeology, i.e. in making inferences from archaeological data (ibid.). 3.5. ‘FAST AND FURIOUS’ CHANGES: THE 1950S “The pace of change in the 1950s was fast and furious” explained William A. Longacre in an article about theories on the archaeology of the American Southwest (Longacre 2000: 292). As seen in the previous section, by the start of the 1950s there was a sheer preoccupation with theory among at least a certain sector of the American archaeological community. Many new ideas first proposed in the preceding de­

cade were picked up by the generation born between 1910 and 1925. There was also a novel interest in statistics (Spaulding 1953) and neo-evolutionism (White 1959). In those years, Gordon Willey and Philip Phillips would also sit down to write two papers that they later transformed into the book entitled Method and Theory in American Archaeology (1958). It is interesting to note that it has been widely repeated that the actual origin of New Archaeology can be found in that book (in fact, it is the earliest book that had the term ‘Theory’ in its title). They began the book by explaining that: “In the summer of 1952, as a result of numerous discussions, we decided to set down our thoughts on certain methodological and theoretical questions in American archaeology.” (Willey and Phillips 1958: vii). They clarified that many of the ideas had originated in the Old World but had been borrowed by Americans. As they put it, “to paraphrase Maitland’s famous dictum: American archaeology is anthropology or it is nothing” (ibid.: 2) (note that in this they opposed Walter Taylor [1948: 44], who had contended that archaeology was neither history nor anthropology). They proposed a processual interpretation by which an attempt was made “to discover regularities in the relationships given by the methods” to organize primary data (ibid.: 6). In geographical terms they distinguished between the following spatial divisions: site, locality, region, area and subarea (ibid.: 18-21). In the 1950s, ‘Settlement Pattern Archaeology’ was born. The idea was to study archaeological sites on a regional scale in order to learn about the sociological processes reflected by the observed transformations throughout time. The spatial study of the Virú valley in Peru was pioneering in this new way of practicing archaeology. As Willey explained at the start of his book:

In the 1950s, ethnoarchaeology also made an appearance. In 1956, Maxine Kleindienst and Patty Jo Watson called on archaeologists to create archaeological inventories of living communities, as there was a need to learn about the “whole cultural contexts of modern analogs as completely as possible, especially in the face of conflicting analogs, in order to determine the probable validity of any interpretation” (Kleindienst and Watson 1956: 76). They referred to Walter Taylor’s conjunctive approach and also to a fellow young archaeologist, Raymond H. Thompson (1956), who was working on the ethnoarchaeology of modern Yucatecan Maya pottery-making, about which he published a book soon after (Thompson 1958). In 1959, Joseph Caldwell mentioned a New Archaeology “more concerned with culture process and less concerned with the descriptive content of prehistoric cultures” (Caldwell 1959: 304). A wealth of inferences derived from changes in cultural forms seen through time also characterized Caldwell’s New Archaeology, in which special attention was paid to patterns and ecological adaptation (ibid.: 305). He concluded that “archaeology is now turning to questions of greater generality than pertain to any single excavated prehistoric site or culture” (ibid.: 306). The last example of the many ideas put forward by the generation producing ‘fast and furious’ changes, to continue with Longacre’s descriptive way of talking about the 1950s, is Leslie White. In the last year of the decade, criticizing Julian Steward’s Theory of Culture Change (1955), White defined culture as an extrasomatic means of adaptation to the geographical and social environment (White 1959). As it will be seen in the next section, this concept would later be received by New Archaeologists (for the background of this see Binford’s comments in Paula Sabloff 1998: 8-10). 3.6. NEW ARCHAEOLOGY

The term ‘settlement patterns’ is defined here as the way in which man disposed himself over the landscape on which he lived. It refers to dwellings, to their arrangement, and to the nature and disposition of other buildings pertaining to community life. These settlements reflect the natural environment, the level technology on which the builders operated, and various institutions of social interaction and control which the culture maintained. Because settlement patterns are, to a large extent, directly shaped by widely held cultural needs, they offer a strategic starting point for the functional interpretation of archaeological cultures (Willey 1949: 1).

There are many histories in which the basics and first steps of New Archaeology are recounted (for example Sabloff 1998; Wylie 1998; Redman 1999; Trigger 2006: chapter 8). In this section an overview will be provided of the several factors that may have been conflated for the formation of this new trend in archaeological thought. The first one to highlight connects with what has been seen above: the preparatory ground established in the 1940s and 1950s with a new interest in theory, the appearance of a call for processual interpretations, settlement archaeology, statistics, ethnoarchaeology and a view of culture as an extrasomatic means of adaptation, all new ideas in archaeology that, however, had only been adopted by a few, while the majority

Gordon Willey later published his Prehistoric Settlement Patterns in the Virú Valley (idem 1953) and after him others followed suit (Sanders 1956; Bluhm 1960; Adams 1966).

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of archaeologists carried on with culture-historical archaeology (or, to use Taylor’s term, the comparative or taxonomic approach). However, as we have already seen in relation to the two previous decades, in the 1960s the number of those dissatisfied with the status quo continued to grow, as many more youngsters entered the profession. Also important for understanding the birth of New Archaeology is the political context of the country during the JFK years, as well as several developments in academia. Regarding the former, one should remember that in 1960 the US electorate chose the Democrat candidate, the young John F. Kennedy (1917-1963). Although he was in office for only a short period, it coincided with a pervasive mentality that postulated that modernization in decision-making was essential and that this was linked with objectivity verification and quantification. The feeling of omnipotence of Kennedy’s team percolated through to American society (Latham 2000; Longacre 2000: 293). In American universities it is important to be aware of the effect of the Servicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944, commonly known as the GI Bill of Rights. This legislation provided college or vocational education for returning World War II veterans (commonly referred to as GIs), as well as one year of unemployment benefit (Humes 2006). More importantly for the period just preceding the emergence of New Archaeology was a second bill promulgated after the Korean War. In 1960 thanks to both of these bills around 18% of college-educated men in the United States had been funded by a GI bill subsidy (Stanley 2003: 671). This led to a radical change in the social composition of American universities, which was bound to have an effect. One of those who benefitted from the GI bill was Lewis Binford (1931-2011). He had begun studying wildlife management and wildlife biology at Virginia Polytechnic Institute, but in 1952 he left to go into the army so that on his return he would be able finance his studies through the GI Bill (Sabloff 1998: 165). This he did after a couple of years in the army, although he did not return to his previous studies, but changed subject and took a degree in anthropology at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, graduating in 1957. He received his MA in 1958 and his Ph.D. in 1964, both from the University of Michigan. Binford was appointed as a lecturer at the University of Chicago in 1961 (ibid.: 20, 24-25). Even though his time there was short (he was denied tenure and left in 1965, Meltzer 2011: 7), his charisma and zeal led to the creation of a cohort of students who were persuaded into his new agenda for archaeology. As he explained to Paula Sabloff:

in the early days at Chicago … when I talked to my students there about changing archaeology and making it – doing process and all this – all of us were really oriented toward cleaning up the archaeologist’s act: doing better fieldwork, doing more comprehensive kinds of record keeping, digging better, making better records of excavation. If we did that, then we were going to describe the archaeological record more accurately and therefore we would have a more accurate past (Sabloff 1998: 18).

The founding article for New Archaeology was published in 1962. In it, Lewis Binford gathered many of the ideas put forward in the 1940s and especially the 1950s and forcefully proposed that archaeology should explain how and why cultural systems changed. Scientific methodology would make this possible: “sampling, settlement pattern studies in a broadscale research, large excavations, controlled surface collections” (Binford, in Sabloff 1998: 33). He favored regional studies over site-based analysis and borrowed White’s definition of culture as an extrasomatic means of adaptation to the physical and social environment (Meltzer 2011). Binford himself mentioned “the group at Chicago: [Stuart or Stu] Struever, [Kent] Flannery, Henry Wright, Bob Whallon, Jim Hill, [William or Bill] Longacre, Leslie Freeman, a couple of linguists, Chris Peebles, John Fritz, Jerry Eck (studied primates)—that’s mostly the Chicago group” (Binford in Sabloff 1998: 32). To them, Mark Leone adds Arthur Saxe and John Fritz (Leone 2010). Binford indicated that those who worked most closely with him intellectually “were probably Bob Whallon, Henry Wright, and Jim Hill – that is, in terms of arguing ideas and keeping any contact” (Binford in Sabloff 1998: 32). To them, Longacre adds Mel Aikens, Jim Brown, Kent Flannery and himself, while he mentions the senior age grade just above them that included Patty Jo Watson, Frank Hole, Bob Netting and Sally Shanfield, and the junior age grade including Margaret Harding, John Fritz (already mentioned above), and Fred Plog (Longacre 2000: 293). Through his students, and other peers who believed in his ideas, Binford’s proposals spread to many other universities. These were the years in which the post-war baby boom (3,548,000 babies born in 1950, for example) reached university age. This coincided with a vigorous economic growth that lasted until the 1970s and both factors led to an increase in university students who needed to be taught. The new posts created to teach them allowed Binford’s students to gain positions and to spread his proposals. Longacre was the first to graduate and joined the faculty at the University of Arizona; Jim Hill finished and was hired at UCLA. Struever was

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given a position at Northwestern, as was Jim Brown; both Flannery and Whallon went to the University of Michigan. Les Freeman was hired at Chicago, and Mel Aikens went to the University of Oregon. Eventually, Fred Plog moved to Arizona State University in Tempe. Paul Martin continued to buttress new directions in the field and received National Science Foundation (NSF) financial help for an undergraduate research participation program. Longacre received NSF support to transform the University of Arizona Field School training program to a completely graduate student endeavor. Together, these two programs of student training had a profound impact on Southwestern archaeology and beyond (ibid.: 294-295). The period of growth in students entering the university and, correspondingly, lecturing jobs, also meant in the long term that the number of professional archaeologists grew considerably. As Binford put it: “When I went to the national meetings in 1956 in Philadelphia, there were 230 people attending the annual meeting of the SAA. By 1970, the attendance must [have been] in the thousands. Just the rate of growth of the field was staggering”. And added: “You see, as long as the only place you could get a job was Harvard, Michigan, Berkeley, UCLA, Chicago, and Yale, then the old guard controlled who got jobs. But when every university—good, bad, and indifferent— is adding archaeologists to their staff, the old guard can’t control who gets jobs” (Binford in Sabloff 1998: 34). This is not the place to analyze the evolution of New Archaeology, which had its heyday in the 1970s. In those years it aggregated some younger archaeologists from the new generations, including, if we heed Embree (1989a: table 6-1), Antonio Gilman. The youngsters, however, never formed part of the vaguely knitted-together group of friends mentioned above, whose main core was represented in the session organized by Lewis and Sally Binford at the American Anthropological Association Annual Meeting in Denver in 1965 (Binford and Binford 1968). During the late 1960s and early 1970s, New Archaeology also saw its influence extend to the UK (Ucko and Dimbleby 1969; Ucko, Tringham and Dimbley 1972; Renfrew 1973).

he had made in the covering letter about ‘New Archaeology’ being over and done with (Embree 1989b: 30). A new generation emerged in those years, not in the US, where university posts were still occupied by those who had obtained their jobs from the 1950s to the early 1970s, but in the UK. The next theoretical wave, ‘post-processualism’ was first mentioned in 1981 by Ian Hodder at the conference on “Structural and Symbolic Archaeology” held in Cambridge. Published the following year, it became a kind of revolutionary manifesto. In this new trend, however, theory maintained a relevant position. Indeed, the preoccupation with method and theory continued, as indicated by the establishment, in 1994, of the Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory. There were new youngsters who became enraptured with the new ideas. A witness’ account of this can be found in Bjørnar Olsen: Why were we so excited? One reason was clearly the simple fact that we were discovering something theoretically new. Walls had collapsed, doors been opened, allowing long if not always very rewarding expeditions into new and alien territories. And the sheer fascination with the new, with the discovery itself, was clearly part of the thrill (Olsen 1999). However, an equally important reason was the feeling of making an impact, of being at a disciplinary turning point, pioneering change; in short, challenging tradition and establishment (Olsen 2012: 15).

However, as mentioned in the introduction, now, in 2020, the heyday of 1980s post-processual archaeology has now passed, with some claiming that a quarter of a century later it had become mainstream and, therefore, uninteresting, at least in the English-speaking world (Shennan 2007: 220), and a few years on, that it is dead and a return to materialism is needed (Olsen 2012). 3.8. CONCLUSION This article has traced the history of archaeological theory from the second half of the nineteenth century until today. It is not a full account, as that would need a much lengthier essay and completely beyond the scope of a chapter such as this. It is important to realize that this chapter has limited itself to talk about English-speaking countries and that, if the focus had been put elsewhere, the narrative would have shown different traces. The account provided in these pages offers a way of understanding the point of departure at which Antonio Gilman began to work in archaeology and also the context in which he has developed his professional life (a life in which, as is the case of many of his generation, there has largely been a lack of empathy with the subsequent theoretical movements discussed above).

3.7. A BRIEF NOTE ABOUT NEW ARCHAEOLOGY’S AFTERMATH In the 1980s, New Archaeology was becoming old. Embree explains that when in 1983 he sent out a questionnaire asking about theoretical archaeology, only 3 out of the 75 people who answered explicitly disagreed with the statement

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The focus of this article has been theory as a general umbrella for the practice of archaeology. It has, however, left aside key aspects of Gilman’s work, such as Marxism (Kohl 1981; Kristiansen 1983; Gilman 1989, 1998; McGuire 2008), which deserves an article in their own right. It may be worth pointing out that the account presented here is not a confirmation of Kühn’s scientific revolutions. Throughout the different periods highlighted in this text it is possible to observe that there is a continuous pace in the way in which scholars think about their business and propose new ideas. This does not deny the existence of paradigms, although it is argued here that paradigms are not revolutions in archaeology per se, although they are perceived as such. They are sort of marketing exercises by which the proposals of the time, often heavily based on what had been put forward by the previous generation, are wrapped up in a novel way. Despite their reliance on the immediate past, they are convincingly presented as radically different to all that preceded them. Behind these paradigms there is more often than not a group of friends who help each other with conferences, funding, job positions and opportunities. These groups are characterized by planning, loyalty to other members—at least in the initial stages—and belief in their mission. It is the conviction of being right that becomes contagious to others who enter the profession and who subsequently develop its tenets. Three examples of this have been brought up in the

preceding pages: the X-Club and post-processual archaeology, only briefly mentioned, and the New Archaeology, with the charismatic Lew Binford as its head. There is nothing that objectively prevented the proposals of other generations becoming paradigms: we can think of that vital, ingenious and imaginative generation of the late 1930s and 1940s, and the fast and furious changes brought about by the generation of the 1950s. Their failure to constitute a paradigm (or two) was probably due to the fact that their propositions were not made available to the profession in a cohesive form. Their proponents acted separately, without any sense of unity among them. Presenting new theoretical ideas in archaeology as a continuous flow would represent a challenge for those lecturing on them and for the new members of the profession learning about them. In addition, perhaps trying to teach archaeological theory while leaving aside paradigms would not be correct, given that paradigms have to do with perception, and they become realities in the way in which we think about ourselves as professionals. This is why, as we said at the start of this essay, Antonio Gilman correctly defined himself as a functionalist sensu lato (Gilman 2001: 80). Paradigms have to do with identity, and as with everything involved in identity, there is no black or white. Paradigms are useful devices and should remain in use, as long as we understand that they not only have an ideological basis but, just as importantly, a social nature.

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IV. RESISTENCIA POLÍTICA E IDENTIDAD RELACIONAL. LOS CASOS DE LOS AWÁ (BRASIL) Y GUMUZ Y DATS’IN (ETIOPÍA) Almudena Hernando

Resumen En este capítulo se defenderá que el desarrollo de la división de funciones y la especialización del trabajo en cualquier sociedad se acompañan de la variación en las actitudes de sus miembros en relación a los cambios. A mayor nivel de poder, especialización e individualidad, mayor búsqueda de cambios caracterizará a la persona; y a menor nivel de especialización y poder, mayor resistencia tendrá a la transformación cultural. Esta resistencia pasa por un reforzamiento de la identidad relacional, que se expresa a través del cuerpo y la cultura material, por lo que es fácilmente detectable en el registro arqueológico. Sin embargo, la arqueología, heredera del pensamiento ilustrado, ha solido prestar atención exclusivamente a las evidencias que apuntan al cambio, la innovación tecnológica y el aumento del poder, es decir, a las evidencias de aumento de la individualidad, ocultando las dinámicas de resistencia y con ello la complejidad inherente a la transformación cultural. Se utilizan dos casos de estudio de Brasil (los awá) y Etiopía (los gumuz y dats’in) para analizar etnoarqueológicamente esas tensiones cambio/ resistencia y se concluye con algunas reflexiones referidas a la arqueología.

characterized by the search for changes; on the other hand, the lower the level of specialization and power, the more resistant these people will become towards cultural transformation. Such resistance implies a reinforcement of relational identity, which is expressed through the body and material culture, rendering it easily identifiable in the archaeological record. Nonetheless, the archaeological discipline, an apt heir of enlightened thought, has tended to focus exclusively on evidences pointing to change, to technological innovation and to increased power; that is, to evidences of the increase of individuality, while it has masked dynamics of resistance, therefore hiding the complexity inherent in cultural transformation. Two case studies from Brazil (the Awá) and Ethiopia (the Gumuz and the Dats’in) are used here to analyze tensions between change and resistance from an ethnoarchaeological perspective, and I conclude with some reflections on archaeology.

Palabras clave: Resistencia, identidad relacional, cuerpo, etnoarqueología, awá, gumuz, dats’in.

Agradezco a Katina Lillios y a Pedro Díaz-delRío la oportunidad de participar en una sesión homenaje a Antonio Gilman. No solo por el afecto personal que a él me une, sino también para tener la posibilidad de reflexionar sobre algunos de los temas que constituyeron el eje principal de su trabajo y de las enseñanzas que nos fue dejando. Antonio siempre ha sido un arqueólogo riguroso, tanto en la definición de los conceptos teóricos, políticos o económicos

Keywords: Resistance, relational identity, body, ethnarchaelogy, Awá, Gumuz, Dats’in. 4.1. INTRODUCCIÓN

Abstract In this article I contend that the development of division of functions and work specialization in any society is always coupled with variations in its members’ attitudes towards changes. The greater the level of power, specialization and individuality they acquire, the more certain people will be

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como en la obtención y uso de los datos empíricos para contrastar sus hipótesis. Y ha sido también un arqueólogo en cierto modo atípico dentro de su propia tradición. Claramente inserto en la tradición anglosajona, se rebeló, sin embargo, contra el evolucionismo fácil y reduccionista de muchas de las interpretaciones de dicha tradición, así como contra las autoindulgentes interpretaciones del funcionalismo. Tal vez su propio origen personal, donde una vida privilegiada económica e intelectualmente se fue construyendo alrededor de ese núcleo conflictivo y outsider que siempre está implícito en las herencias de los exiliados, pudiera explicar algunos de los rasgos de su trayectoria. Nieto de Jorge Guillén (poeta, profesor de literatura e intelectual español, exiliado en Estados Unidos desde 1938), Antonio disfrutó desde su nacimiento de un ambiente culto y cosmopolita y, aunque vivió siempre en Estados Unidos, se mantuvo fiel y apegado a su herencia española, como bien demuestra la abundancia de participaciones en esta sesión de homenaje y el carácter ecléctico de las contribuciones. Porque Antonio Gilman, aun dentro de la más pura tradición anglosajona, siempre fue un poco más allá de los conformismos que son propios de esa para interesarse por el origen de los conflictos sociales. Desde la Revolución del Paleolítico Superior hasta sus pormenorizados análisis de la transición entre Calcolítico y Edad del Bronce del Sureste español, siempre consideró que el conflicto era el núcleo al que había que atender en el análisis de la prehistoria. En este capítulo quiero seguir la tónica de esa preocupación, prestando atención a un aspecto particular de los conflictos que rigen las dinámicas sociales, el derivado de la resistencia a la transformación. Me quiero referir en particular a las resistencias internas que se generan de forma espontánea en todos los grupos sociales ante la eventualidad de cambios liderados por algunos sectores internos del mismo grupo social. Se trata de un núcleo conflictivo endógeno que podemos suponer presente en casi todas las coyunturas de cambio social, independientemente del tiempo o del lugar en el que se contextualicen, por las razones que intentaré desgranar más abajo. Sin embargo, la arqueología no ha atendido nunca a esa tensión interna previsible en los momentos de cambio, limitándose a identificar las evidencias que apuntan en la dirección de la transformación, la innovación, el aumento del poder o de la complejidad. En este sentido, se constituye en heredera directa de la Ilustración, que idealizó el desarrollo de la tecnología y la razón como motores del «progreso», cuyo grado de desarrollo servía para evaluar la perfección moral de una sociedad dada. Como la Ilustración, la arqueología ha considerado

retardatarias las tendencias comunitarias, las dinámicas femeninas o la resistencia al cambio y, en consecuencia, no ha prestado atención a las evidencias de su existencia. Al igual que el pensamiento ilustrado (Kant 1784), ha dado por sentado que la sociedad tiende «naturalmente» a mejorar sus condiciones materiales de vida, lo que consigue a través del desarrollo tecnológico y el aumento de la riqueza, sin contemplar la pérdida de vínculo y el precio emocional que dichas transformaciones implican, ni cuestionar, por tanto, el concepto de «bienestar» que utilizan. A través de la evidencia obtenida en dos proyectos de investigación etnoarqueológica en Brasil y en Etiopía, me gustaría realizar algunas reflexiones relativas a estas cuestiones. Concluiré que la arqueología está dirigiendo una mirada muy parcial al pasado, teniendo en cuenta solo las dinámicas sociales y culturales que constituyen expresión de una transformación hacia el aumento de la individualidad, el poder o la riqueza y la tendencia al cambio, e ignorando aquellas que se relacionan con las propias dinámicas de resistencia a esa transformación, que siempre pasan por un reforzamiento de la identidad relacional. 4.2. RESISTENCIA POLÍTICA Y DINÁMICAS RELACIONALES En su An Archaeology of Resistance, González Ruibal (2014: 9) diferencia entre resiliencia, resistencia y rebelión como tres formas distintas de resistencia al poder. La primera es definida por la Real Academia de la Lengua como la ‘capacidad de adaptación de un ser vivo frente a un agente perturbador o un estado o situación adversos’, y a juicio de González Ruibal (ibid.: 9) incluiría esos «expedientes ocultos» (hidden transcripts) de los que hablaba James Scott (1985, 1990). Scott (1990) se refería con ello a mecanismos de resistencia de los dominados que pasan desapercibidos para el grupo dominador porque no constituyen enfrentamientos abiertos. Los dominados aceptan en público la dominación, pero la cuestionan en privado, de forma que consiguen crear mecanismos de solidaridad que les fortalecen. En el extremo opuesto se encuentra la rebelión abierta, que constituye un estallido público de los dominados cuando la dominación se hace insoportable (González Ruibal 2014: 10). Entre ambos extremos cabe situar la resistencia propiamente dicha, actitud que, a juicio de Scott (2009), definiría a comunidades que han conseguido sobrevivir en la periferia de formaciones estatales, permitiéndoles mantenerse al margen de la dominación externa y de las jerarquías de estado (también González Ruibal 2014: 10). Tanto la resiliencia como la

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rebelión han sido estudiadas fundamentalmente desde la arqueología histórica (Montón-Subías y Abejez 2015) y la arqueología del colonialismo y el imperialismo (Hall 2000; Liebmann 2012), cuyo objeto de estudio incluye, por definición, diversos tipos de interacción entre dominadores y dominados. Sin embargo, existe también una forma de resistencia que puede tener lugar no solo frente la tentativa de dominación de grupos externos, sino como reacción de una parte de la comunidad frente al intento de otra de transformar el statu quo, buscando impedir que las cosas cambien. Y es a esta forma de resistencia a la que me quiero referir aquí. Con distintos objetivos y modalidades, las he encontrado en sendos proyectos de etnoarqueología, realizados en lugares tan distantes como Brasil y Etiopía, y creo que puede ayudarnos a pensar en la prehistoria. Aunque la resistencia al cambio puede surgir como mecanismo de defensa de un grupo frente al intento de dominación de otro, como veremos en el caso de Etiopía, es también constitutiva de cualquier dinámica endógena de transformación social, como el propio marxismo hizo notar al referirse a la dialéctica y las contradicciones que caracterizan la transformación histórica (véase, por ejemplo, Vicent 1998, en relación a la aparición del modo tributario de producción). Lo que intentaré defender en este texto es que ese tipo de resistencia, que se esfuerza en rechazar los cambios (propiciados por agentes externos o internos) para que un determinado orden social pueda seguir existiendo, se construye identitariamente a través de dinámicas relacionales, y que estas utilizan el cuerpo y la cultura material para construirse y expresarse. En este sentido, se conforman y articulan de forma distinta a las dinámicas de cambio y poder, asociadas a la individualidad, que ponen en juego la mente (las ideas y deseos) y la agencia personal de quienes los promueven o sostienen. Al ser el cuerpo y la cultura material el vehículo de construcción de las primeras, son fácilmente detectables en el registro arqueológico, a pesar de lo cual la arqueología las ha obviado sistemáticamente porque no son valoradas por el discurso (ilustrado) de la modernidad. En otros lugares (Hernando 2002, 2018) he argumentado que la identidad humana es un mecanismo cognitivo complejo que básicamente tiene como objetivo neutralizar la angustia que nos generaría ser conscientes de nuestra impotencia frente al universo, generando una idea de lo que somos y de lo que es el mundo que siempre nos devuelve la convicción de que estamos seguros y vamos a sobrevivir. Para ello, es imprescindible que cada persona sienta que forma parte de una unidad mayor que ella misma, que pertenece a

un grupo, que no se enfrenta sola a un universo que la supera en todas sus dimensiones. Esta sensación de pertenencia se genera a través de la identidad relacional, y a ella puede superponerse o no (dependiendo del grado de complejidad socioeconómica de cada grupo) la identidad individualizada, es decir, la idea de que la persona es autónoma y distinta de las demás. Obviamente, ambos modos de identidad son estructuralmente contradictorios y, cuando conviven, sumen a la persona en un conflicto —en el que no entraremos aquí (idem 2018)— que ha sido resuelto de forma distinta por hombres y mujeres a lo largo de la historia. La identidad relacional pone en la identificación con el grupo la clave de la seguridad. Es un mecanismo de seguridad muy potente, que todos utilizamos en alguna medida, pero en todo caso es el único de quienes no participan de ningún grado de especialización o poder dentro de una sociedad. Genera seguridad porque a través de ella el ser humano siente que no está solo, que pertenece a una unidad mayor que él mismo con la que se identifica, y donde siempre existe una instancia protectora (que, en principio, cuando no existe complejidad socioeconómica, será una instancia sagrada). Podríamos decir que caracteriza tanto más la identidad de la persona cuanto mayor impotencia sienta esta en el control material de sus condiciones de existencia. Por el contrario, aquellas que comiencen a controlar tecnología y a descifrar las mecánicas causales del mundo comenzarán a desarrollar rasgos de individualidad y se sentirán autónomas y con poder en correlación proporcional al grado de especialización y racionalización que alcancen. Es decir, la individualidad es la identidad más visible en quienes tienen poder personal y la identidad relacional en quienes no lo tienen, que, sin embargo, al vincularse de esta manera, se sienten igualmente seguros. Por esta razón, a mayor individualidad, menor temor a los cambios o, de hecho, mayor necesidad de cambiar para construir la idea de uno mismo como potente y agente del propio destino. Y a mayor identidad relacional, mayor resistencia a los cambios y a la transformación del statu quo. De ahí que cuando un sector de la población quiere ofrecer resistencia a cambios endógenos o exógenos, potencie su identidad relacional. La individualidad exige ser consciente de los deseos que se quieren perseguir y de la dirección que se quiere dar al propio destino. La escritura disparó los grados de individualización de quienes la utilizaban (y por esa misma razón los hombres impidieron que las mujeres accedieran a la lectura y a la escritura hasta llegar a la modernidad; véase Morant 2005), ya que, al poner por escrito el pensamiento, hizo que se fuera consciente de la existencia de este y apare-

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ciera la idea de la mente (Olson 1994: 234-242). Las personas comenzaron a considerarse agentes de su propio pensamiento, de los deseos que albergaban y de las trayectorias que imprimían a sus vidas. Hasta entonces, todo ello se consideraba regido por una instancia externa, por dioses y espíritus que hablaban a los humanos, o por la acción de órganos físicos como el corazón, las tripas o los pulmones («el corazón me dice», «lo siento en las tripas»…) (ibid.: 234-242). Por eso, en la individualidad existe un adentro y un afuera de la persona, un desdoblamiento entre cuerpo y mente, una conciencia de los pensamientos y deseos, y una apariencia que puede ocultar o expresar ese interior. No sucede, sin embargo, lo mismo en la identidad relacional. Aquí no hay distinción entre el adentro y el afuera, sino que la persona se construye a imagen y semejanza de los demás a través de acciones y apariencias compartidas, y sabe quién es solo en tanto las repite sin modificación. Es precisamente esta repetición, esta apariencia común, la reproducción de un orden que no varía, la que le hace saber quién es y le da seguridad (Ong 1986). Pensemos en la ornamentación facial de muchos grupos indígenas o en los trajes regionales, pero también en la base relacional que todos tenemos, y que se expresa a través de un acento común al hablar o una forma compartida de sentarnos, saludarnos, vestirnos, peinarnos, etc. A través del cuerpo, las acciones y la cultura material se construye la identidad relacional, el sentido de pertenencia, la adscripción a un grupo, sin que lo hagamos conscientemente ni, por tanto, reconozcamos esta parte de nuestra identidad cuando ya hemos desarrollado en algún grado la individualidad. Esta es también la principal razón por la que la Ilustración y la arqueología solo han reconocido las expresiones culturales que se asocian al avance de la individualidad (como el aumento del poder, la tecnología, la intensificación económica o el aumento de la desigualdad social): los hombres que construyeron el discurso ilustrado y dieron inicio a la arqueología solo eran conscientes de esa parte de su identidad (entre otras cosas, porque delegaban básicamente en las mujeres la construcción de los vínculos y lo relacional). Sin embargo, la incorporación de las mujeres a la práctica arqueológica está transformando el discurso, pues estas no pueden dejar de atender a los vínculos y al cuidado (la identidad relacional) en el que se habían especializado históricamente, lo que está generando una reflexión sobre esas partes «ocultas» de la dinámica social y humana que empieza a tener efectos en la búsqueda de evidencias (Colomer et al. 1998; Montón-Subías y Sánchez Romero 2008; Lillehammer 2010; Sánchez Romero y Cid 2018).

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Como ya he declarado, en este texto quiero sostener que la resistencia frente a cambios no deseados, impulsados siempre por alguien más individualizado, ya sea desde dentro o desde fuera del grupo, se construye identitariamente a través de un reforzamiento de la identidad relacional. La identidad es un mecanismo muy flexible, contraparte de nuestra relación material con el mundo: cuanto más controlamos/ entendemos racionalmente los fenómenos de la realidad, más individualizados estaremos (sobre una imprescindible base relacional); y cuanto menos control tenemos, más acentuaremos la identidad relacional para compensar la inseguridad y sentirnos reforzados. Y este balance puede poner mayor o menor peso en una forma u otra de identidad dependiendo de las circunstancias (cuando ya se ha desarrollado la individualidad). Pondré un ejemplo cercano para que se entienda mejor lo que intento decir: pensemos en las guerras mundiales que vivió Europa, por ejemplo. El grado de individualización de los hombres había alcanzado cotas máximas en la historia, pero, sin embargo, aquellos que decidieron formar parte de la «resistencia» al poder impuesto (por ejemplo, por los nazis) pasaron a integrar células de acción cuyo éxito dependía del grado en el que consiguieran amortiguar su individualidad y potenciar su identidad relacional. Pasaban a tener nombres ficticios, a obedecer órdenes sin pensar en sus propios deseos, a identificarse entre sí, etc. Y una vez desaparecido el enemigo, volvió de nuevo a activarse toda la diferencia interpersonal individual y a mitigarse u ocultarse la relacional. Otro ejemplo cercano podría ser el de los conventos religiosos del mundo occidental, que permiten a quien los habita resistir a la lógica consumista y capitalista de la sociedad civil a través de una renuncia a la individualidad y una potenciación de la identidad relacional: se intentan anular las diferencias, entre otras cosas renunciando a la riqueza y unificando la apariencia, se habita en un espacio regido por la ley sagrada, se cree en la existencia de espacios míticos, y no importan los deseos o la agencia personal en un mundo regido por la obediencia. Se renuncia al cambio y se busca la reproducción del conocimiento heredado, sin someterlo a la lógica de la razón. Siguiendo esta misma lógica estructural podemos decir que, en aquellas sociedades donde ya ha aparecido la división de funciones (y por tanto, rasgos de individualidad), las personas menos especializadas/individualizadas tendrán más resistencia al cambio y las más especializadas/ individualizadas lo buscarán en mayor medida. Para argumentar en contra de la simplificación que supone analizar solo las evidencias de las

dinámicas protagonizadas por las personas más individualizadas del grupo social, como ha hecho hasta ahora la arqueología, pondré dos ejemplos, sacados de mi propia experiencia etnoarqueológica en Brasil y en Etiopía. El primero es el de los awá de Brasil, con quienes realicé trabajo de campo entre 2005 y 2009, y el segundo es el de los gumuz y dats’in de Etiopía. 4.3. LOS AWÁ DE MARANHÃO, BRASIL Los awá (aunque también se les conoce como guajá en la literatura, e. g. Gomes 1991; Baleé 1994; Forline 1997; Cormier 2003) son un grupo de cazadores-recolectores en transición a la agricultura, que viven en el estado de Maranhão, Brasil (fig. 4.1). Junto a Gustavo Politis, Alfredo González Ruibal y Elizabeth María Beserra Coelho, desarrollé entre ellos un proyecto de etnoarqueología desde 2005 a 2009. Los awá viven en una zona tropical seca de la selva del Amazonas (Forline 1997: 84) y, desde que Curt Nimuendaju los incluyó en el 1949 en su Handbook of South American Indians, han sido objeto de dos excelentes monografías (Forline 1997; Cormier 2003) previas a nuestro trabajo (Hernando y Coelho 2015). Su subsistencia está basada en la caza, la pesca y la recolección, aunque en años recientes la FUNAI (Fundação Nacional do Índio, organismo encargado de su protección y dependiente del Ministerio de Justicia) les está induciendo a aprender el cultivo de mandioca para suplir las deficiencias en carbohidratos que la reducción de su movilidad está implicando. Desde comienzos de los años 70, sus tierras se vieron invadidas por deforestadores y campesinos de la sociedad brasileña (Treece 1987), lo que explica que, desde 1973, el gobierno brasileño, a través de la FUNAI, comenzara a localizarlos y a trasladarlos a reservas legamente demarcadas para ellos. En concreto, existen tres Tierras Indígenas donde viven los awá (Carú, Awá y Alto Turiaçu), cada una de las cuales cuenta con un «Puesto Indígena» en el que reside el representante de la FUNAI. Tras visitar todos los puestos, decidimos desarrollar el proyecto desde el Puesto Indígena Jurití, situado en la Tierra Awá, pues no contaba con presencia de escuelas de alfabetización o de misioneros, como sucedía en alguno de los otros. A pesar de ello, la Tierra Indígena Awá está siendo invadida por madereros ilegales que están reduciendo la movilidad de los awá a un área de apenas 10 km alrededor del Puesto Jurití (Hernando y González Ruibal 2011), razón por la cual están sufriendo serias dificultades para acceder a los cocales de coco babaçu, de los

Figura 4.1.  Localización de las Tierras  Indígenas  Awá, en el estado de Maranhão, Brasil.

que conseguían tradicionalmente los hidratos de carbono, lo que explica la introducción de la mandioca por parte de la FUNAI. El trabajo de campo se extendió durante 23 semanas en total, entre diciembre de 2005 y marzo de 2009, repartiéndose el equipo en dos grupos para poder visitar a los awá en dos momentos del año distintos, de forma que pudiéramos documentar la variación de sus actividades de subsistencia en época seca y lluviosa (Hernando y Coelho 2015). La población que vive junto al Puesto Jurití procede, básicamente, de tres expediciones de contacto (Gomes y Meirelles 2002; O’Dwyer 2002): la primera realizada en 1989, cuando se llevaron al puesto 22 personas de las que 7 habrían de morir en pocos años; la segunda, en 1991, cuando se trasladó un grupo familar (Takanĩhĩ Cha’a, su esposa y dos hijos), además de un joven y un hombre maduro, supervivientes de un grupo mayor de 30 personas que venía sufriendo persecuciones de hacendados y colonos desde 1978; y la tercera, en 1998, cuando fue trasladado un pequeño grupo de 4 personas (familia de Kamará y Parachĩ), últimos supervivientes también de un grupo mayor exterminado por colonos blancos. El resultado es que en la actualidad habitan en el Puesto Jurití 40 awá, procedentes de 3 núcleos familiares distintos, que han tenido que reorganizar sus redes sociales y de parentesco. Los awá se organizaban tradicionalmente en pequeños grupos integrados por una o dos unidades familiares en movimiento constante, que solían contactar entre sí, para el intercambio de personas e información, en los lugares donde crecía el coco babaçu (Orbignya/Attalea speciosa) (O’Dwyer 2002: nota 4). El traslado al Puesto Indígena Jurití significó para ellos la posibilidad de supervivencia sin persecución, pero a cambio, implicó una transformación radical de sus pautas de movilidad y de su relación con la naturaleza,

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lo que, obviamente, tuvo una inherente e inevitable contraparte identitaria. Aunque la filosofía con la que se creó la Tierra Awá establecía que los indígenas trasladados podían elegir con libertad el lugar y modo de su nueva residencia, con la única condición de respetar los límites de la reserva, la práctica se aleja de esa aspiración teórica. Por un lado, su traslado era resultado de un pasado lleno de experiencias traumáticas, de persecuciones por parte de invasores de lo que hasta entonces habían sido sus tierras, de exterminios planificados, muertes por hambre y enfermedad y huida constante (Gomes y Meirelles 2002). Así que al llegar a Jurití solían encontrar en el puesto un lugar de cuya protección era fácil acostumbrarse a depender, sobre todo teniendo en cuenta que el personal de la FUNAI prefería tener cerca y bien localizados a los indígenas para garantizar esa protección. La consecuencia es que todos los awá han establecido una residencia permanente más o menos cerca del puesto, desde la cual realizan salidas diarias para cazar y recolectar. Como única excepción a esta norma de progresiva reducción de movilidad, existen dentro de Jurití algunas personas o grupos familiares que realizan desplazamientos que pueden durar días, semanas o incluso meses para cazar en áreas alejadas del puesto (Hernando y González Ruibal 2011). Esta transformación se ve acentuada, además, por la entrega de cultura material moderna que la FUNAI viene haciendo de forma cada vez más abundante a los awá. El reparto de linternas, pilas, hamacas, faldas para las mujeres, e incluso escopetas y cartuchos de pólvora para algunos hombres, van llevando a algunos awá a abandonar su cultura material y sus técnicas tradicionales para adoptar otras que les hacen dependientes de la FUNAI. Pero lo que interesa resaltar en este texto es el hecho de que, ante el polo de atracción y cambio representado por la FUNAI, no todos los awá reaccionan de la misma manera: unos se sienten atraídos hacia el cambio y lo apoyan, y otros, por el contrario, muestran una clara resistencia a las transformaciones que les acosan. Podríamos decir que en este momento la identidad awá se mueve entre dos claros polos de atracción: en un polo se sitúan las categorías asociadas a su identidad tradicional de cazadores-recolectores, que implica una idea de sí mismos asociada siempre al grupo, un sentido del tiempo centrado básicamente en el presente, un rechazo del cambio, una localización mítica del pasado, un uso de cultura material tradicional, la desnudez como expresión del cuerpo, la inexistencia de barreras entre lo que nosotros consideramos naturaleza y cultura expresada en estructuras de habitación que no

alteran el orden natural o en cultura material fabricada con elementos naturales (Bird-David 1999; Hernando 2002…). Y en el polo opuesto se encuentran los representantes de la FUNAI, a caballo entre la sociedad campesina (cabocla) y la modernidad (Nugent 1993), por lo que podríamos considerarlos «modernos vernáculos». Se asocian a un cierto desarrollo de la individualidad, un cuerpo vestido, una percepción del tiempo donde pasado, presente y futuro tienen contenidos diferentes, y el pasado ya no se sitúa en un espacio mítico sino en la historia, la búsqueda de cambios, la seguridad frente a los extraños, el uso de tecnología especializada, una religión institucionalizada y basada en la escritura, etc. Este segundo polo ofrece un modelo que es imitado por aquellos awá que por su juventud o inclinaciones personales están desarrollando rasgos más individualizados que los demás. De este modo, en este momento existen awá en Jurití que encarnan combinaciones de las categorías de ambos polos en grados diversos, aunque sin aparente conflicto entre ellos. La transformación parece inevitable, dada por un lado la desaparición de las condiciones que les permitían mantener un modo de vida de cazarecolección con movilidad constante, y por otro, la presión transformadora a que les somete la FUNAI. De ahí que pueda decirse que el hecho de que todos sigan considerándose cazadoresrecolectores (por más que algunos se dediquen crecientemente a las tareas agrícolas), o de que sigan dando importancia crucial a los arcos y flechas (González Ruibal et al. 2010) (aunque ya haya muchos que no las fabriquen), constituye en sí mismo un acto cotidiano (si bien inconsciente) de resistencia colectiva a la transformación (véase Beretta 2008: 107, para un caso similar entre los mby’á de Argentina). Dentro de esta dinámica traumática y de resistencia común, sin embargo, hay determinadas personas

Figura 4.2.  Estructura de habitación de adobe que imita las cabañas de los  campesinos  en  Jurití.

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—aquellas que encarnan las categorías asociadas al polo más «tradicional»— que encarnan una resistencia más activa, subversiva y visible, «actuando» (Foucault 1994: 635; Bourdieu 2007) de todos los modos posibles su rechazo a la transformación. Los awá que se muestran proclives al cambio aceptan participar en el cultivo de mandioca (la selva les parece incluso «muy peligrosa» para cazar, como confesaba Pira’í Ma’a) y muestran deseos de identificación con los representantes de la FUNAI, mostrando incipientes evidencias de individualización. Estas se expresan a través de la construcción de estructuras de habitación de adobe con paredes y puerta (fig. 4.2), que establecen una clara separación entre naturaleza y cultura y permiten diferenciar el ámbito público del privado —ocultando en este alimentos y objetos que no quieren compartir con el resto del grupo—, un rechazo a las formas tradicionales de vida, un gusto por los objetos e instrumentos modernos, una presentación del cuerpo siempre vestido (y a ser posible del modo más parecido posible a los representantes del gobierno, que tienen el poder) (fig. 4.3), un deseo de visibilización ante los agentes del gobierno, etc. Es decir, tienden a diferenciarse entre sí y del grupo, tanto en su apariencia personal y en los objetos que utilizan, como en el grado de riqueza que poseen. Al mismo tiempo, aunque no nos detendremos en ello porque ya fue tratado en un trabajo previo (Hernando y González Ruibal 2011), localizan sus viviendas en el área más cercana al Puesto Indígena, demostrando el valor de estructura-estructurante del espacio. Sin embargo, como digo, otra parte del grupo se resiste al cambio en grados diversos. Los más resistentes se niegan a cultivar y pasan frecuentes temporadas en la selva dedicados a la caza. Sus campamentos no establecen ninguna separación entre naturaleza y cultura (fig. 4.4), indistinción que viene apoyada por sus cuerpos desnudos (fig. 4.5); no tienen deseo de acumulación ni sentido de la propiedad y utilizan cultura material tradicional. Ambos extremos son parte de la misma cultura awá y conviven sin conflicto, cada uno respetando a los demás. Seguramente un estudio arqueológico futuro prestaría atención solo a los awá que más se aproximan al polo del cambio, porque los considerarían «progresistas» frente a los «retardatarios» representantes del polo opuesto, o atribuiría cada una de estas expresiones a una cultura distinta, o a un tiempo diferente, cuando solo son expresión de una misma dinámica de cambio/resistencia protagonizada por el mismo grupo humano. Al final del texto volveremos sobre este punto. Veamos primero el segundo caso que deseo presentar.

Figura 4.3.  Hombres awá con cuerpos  vestidos y alguna  escopeta.

Figura 4.4.  Campamento  awá de miembros  del  grupo que se resisten a los  cambios.

Figura 4.5. Mituruhúm  cazando.

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4.4. LOS GUMUZ Y DATS’IN DE ETIOPÍA

Núñez 2010, 2015; Feyissa Dadi 2011; González Ruibal 2014…), no sucede lo mismo con los dats’in, virtualmente desconocidos en la bibliografía occidental hasta hace muy poco tiempo (Ahland 2016; Falquina 2017, 2018; Hernando 2017; Hernando, González y Gerara 2019). De hecho, su lengua puede estar en riesgo de desaparición, pues mientras los hablantes gumuz pueden ascender hasta 30 000 o 50 000, los de dats’in no llegan a 1000 —tal vez incluso sean solo 300 o 500— (Ahland 2016: 417). Murray Last propuso el término deep rural para referirse a un amplio grupo de pueblos caracterizados por evitar la subordinación y la asimilación cultural a los grupos vecinos en África occidental (James 2016). Posteriormente fue utilizado por Jedrej (1995: 3) para poblaciones sudanesas, y por González Ruibal (2014) para algunos grupos etíopes. A diferencia de los campesinos estudiados por Eric Wolf (1966), los deep rural se caracterizan por evitar la incorporación total al Estado a través de su localización en áreas periféricas y del despliegue de distintas estrategias de resistencia (Jedrej 1995, 2006; González-Ruibal 2014; James 2016). Bajo esa calificación cabría situar tanto a gumuz como a dats’in, que han sufrido históricamente devastadoras razzias esclavistas, hasta incluso después de la Segunda Guerra Mundial (Tsega Endalew Etefa 2006: 66; González Ruibal 2014: 95). De hecho, ambos grupos siguen siendo desvalorizados en la actualidad por las etnias dominantes del altiplano etíope, que les siguen denominando shankilla, término amhárico muy derogativo que aparece en las crónicas etíopes desde el siglo xv y que significa ‘uno que es negro y que es vendido’ (James 1979: 8). Aparte de la huida y el desplazamiento hasta llegar a la zona actual, su llamativa capacidad de resistencia cultural ha ido conformándose a través de mecanismos que les permitían reforzarse como grupo y evitar la división interna y las diferencias de riqueza o de poder, es decir, potenciando su identidad relacional, asociada a la hostilidad política hacia grupos vecinos, el desarrollo de barreras a la penetración económica o la endogamia (idem 1986: 120). Su estrategia fundamental ha consistido en el encapsulamiento cultural a través de la potenciación de dinámicas relacionales que neutralizan la posibilidad de disgregación y disolución a la que hubieran podido conducir tendencias más individualizadoras. Se trata de agricultores de roza, que cultivan básicamente sorgo, sésamo y maíz, y crían algunas cabras, gallinas y excepcionalmente alguna cabeza de ganado. Aunque todos los vecinos utilizan el arado para el cultivo, tanto gumuz como dats’in mantienen la azada y el palo cavador tradicional, lo que impide la acumulación y las diferencias de riqueza (González Ruibal 2014: 113) y, en consecuencia, el desarrollo de diferencias interpersonales. De ahí que la sociedad

El otro caso de estudio al que me gustaría aludir es el de los gumuz y dats’in de Etiopía. Se trata de dos grupos de agricultores de azada que viven en la zona de Qwara y Metema, al noroeste de Etiopía, en la frontera con Sudán (fig. 4.6). Tienen orígenes, lenguas y reglas matrimoniales distintas (por intercambio de hermanas los gumuz, por compra de la novia los dats’in), pero presentan claros rasgos de convergencia cultural y, sobre todo, ambos han hecho de la resistencia la clave fundamental de su construcción cultural e identitaria y de su supervivencia física y material. La información a la que nos referiremos fue obtenida en tres campañas de trabajo etnoarqueológico en las aldeas gumuz y dats’in que se reparten en las orillas del río Gelegu, en el kebele de Mahadid (área de Qwara, Región Amhara, Etiopía) durante los meses de mayo de 2015, febrero de 2016 (no fue posible trabajar en 2017 por desórdenes políticos) y febrero de 2018. Visitamos todas las aldeas de ambos grupos (las dats’in de Beloha, Omedla, Dengersha y Gerara, y las gumuz de Binyanya, Lay Magelib, Tach Magelib, Tebeldiya y Mahal Gerara), que se reparten aleatoriamente y a escasa distancia entre sí a orillas del río Gelegu. Las campañas se plantearon como continuación del trabajo que Alfredo González Ruibal venía desarrollando en la zona desde 2001. Aunque los gumuz son ampliamente conocidos en la bibliografía (Etefa 2006; González

Figura 4.6.  Localización del área de estudio  Gumuz y Dats’in (Etiopía), en la frontera con Sudán.

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gumuz haya sido definida como «igualitaria» o como regida por una «ética igualitaria» (Jedrej 1995: 4; Feyissa Dadi 2011: 166). No existen jefes ni posiciones de poder diferenciado, sino, por el contrario, un esfuerzo permanente por visibilizarse como iguales tanto en su apariencia corporal como en sus estructuras de habitación o su cultura material (González Ruibal 2014: 91172) (fig. 4.7). En los últimos años, sin embargo, algunos hombres dats’in están comenzando a realizar trabajo campesino asalariado en Sudán, al otro lado de la frontera (durante mes y medio o dos meses al año, según Amuna Shikkiden, de Omedla; dos o tres meses según Mastura, de Gerara, o entre cuatro meses y un año según Zéhara, de Dangersha), lo que puede empezar a transformar la dinámica de igualdad que va en contra de la identidad relacional y sirve de base a la resistencia. Por su parte, los hombres gumuz pueden presentar también alguna diferencia económica dependiendo de la extensión de sésamo que pueden cultivar, dado el alto precio que ese cereal alcanza en el mercado (Feyissa Dadi 2011: 266). Quizá por esa razón la estrategia de resistencia de ambos grupos mantiene un rígido dispositivo que no es reconocido por la investigación cuando se les denomina sociedades igualitarias: la socialización gumuz y dats’in reproduce una identidad exclusivamente relacional en el caso de las mujeres a través de dinámicas corporales y de uso de cultura material, impidiéndoles desarrollar los escasísimos rasgos de individualización que son visibles en los hombres. Como en tantas otras sociedades, las mujeres asumen la función de repositorio de las tradiciones y la identidad relacional y colectiva del grupo (Hernando 2017, 2019). Aunque tanto hombres como mujeres tienen una identidad básicamente relacional, los hombres serán los que, de forma colegiada, tomarán las decisiones que afecten al grupo, lo que exige que hayan desarrollado en alguna medida algún

rasgo de individualización, que puede verse incrementado progresivamente con sus, de momento, esporádicas incursiones en las dinámicas de mercado. De esta forma, en las mujeres la identidad relacional será más marcada y, por tanto, más visible a través de su apariencia corporal y la cultura material asociada. Y, en efecto, se comprueba que, entre los gumuz, la escarificación facial es un identificador étnico, pero mientras los hombres solo la llevan en la cara, o pueden incluso no llevarla, las mujeres también la llevan en los brazos, la espalda o el estómago (ver también González Ruibal 2014: 123-127) (fig. 4.8). Del mismo modo, tanto gumuz como dats’in revisten a todos los bebés, niños o niñas, de cuentas de colores hasta que aprenden a andar, para prevenir el mal de ojo y combatir la vulnerabilidad que les es inherente, pero desde que aprenden a andar, los hombres prescindirán de las cuentas —que solo volverán a utilizar en caso de enfermedad, considerada siempre resultado del mal de ojo—, mientras que las mujeres no solo las mantendrán durante toda su vida, sino incluso tras la muerte, en expresión material de la mayor vulnerabilidad que las caracteriza (Hernando 2017) (fig. 4.9).

Figura 4.7. Aldea  gumuz.

Figura 4.8.  Mujer  gumuz con escarificaciones  en la espalda.

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De este modo, podríamos decir que la resistencia gumuz y dats’in a la dominación externa se potencia a través de dinámicas relacionales que pasan, de manera particularmente marcada, por el cuerpo y la cultura material de las mujeres. Ellas se convierten en el repositorio de la tradición, en el aglutinante de los valores y las esencias del grupo, lo que compensa las tendencias más disgregadoras e individualizadoras que pueden estar siendo actuadas por algunos hombres. Y aunque no nos detendremos en esta cuestión, ajena al argumento que aquí se defiende, no podemos dejar de decir que esto marca a su vez una relación de dominación interna entre los hombres y las mujeres del grupo, puesto que las pequeñas diferencias en sus respectivos grados de individualización marcan a su vez diferencias en sus respectivos grados de poder. 4.5. REFLEXIONES FINALES El argumento que he querido presentar aquí es que la resistencia al cambio (impuesto desde fuera o generado desde el propio grupo) se construye a través de dinámicas relacionales, y que estas utilizan el cuerpo y la cultura material para construirse, unificando la apariencia y las acciones —y con ello la identidad—, de quienes la encarnan. Aunque no es posible utilizar los casos citados para realizar ninguna analogía directa con el pasado prehistórico, tal vez sí podrían servir para reflexionar sobre determinadas dinámicas a las que la arqueología ha venido prestando escasa atención. En general, solo ha atendido a las evidencias de cambios (tecnológicos, sociales, en el grado de poder, etc.) —es decir, a las dinámicas asociadas a ciertos rasgos de individualización— de quienes lideraban el grupo social. Pero en toda sociedad hay dinámicas de resistencia, porque no todos sus miembros se individualizan en la misma medida, ni por tanto ocupan/desean posiciones de poder o se inclinan a cambiar en el mismo grado (o no todos tienen el mismo grado de poder, lo que significa que no se individualizan en la misma medida; se trata de una relación estructural, no causal). Podríamos decir que en los grupos sociales todas las personas tienen identidad relacional cuando no hay división de funciones ni especialización del trabajo. Pero, a medida que estas aparecen, quienes ocupan esas posiciones (hombres en general) van desarrollando simultáneamente rasgos de individualidad. A medida que sus posiciones sean más diversificadas, se irá abriendo un abanico de posibilidades identitarias y de poder dentro de la sociedad, correspondiéndose la máxima individualización con aquellas posiciones de máxima especialización y/o poder. De esta forma, cuanto mayor complejidad socioeco-

Figura 4.9.  Mujer  dats’in con collares de cuentas de colores.

El cuerpo de las mujeres está mucho más inscrito por el grupo (a través de inscripciones corporales o de cultura material) que el de los hombres (debe apuntarse aquí que las dats’in sufren la clitoridectomía), y ellas asumen esta inscripción transformándola en ideal de belleza. Cabe recordar que, ya desde la Edad del Bronce europeo, los cuerpos de las mujeres aparecen más asociados a ornamentos permanentes que los de los hombres (Sorensen 1997), manifestando así una mayor apropiación/identificación por/ con el grupo (esta dinámica se mantiene incluso en nuestra propia sociedad europea moderna a través de los pendientes, la depilación, el teñido del pelo, los tacones, los implantes…). Los ideales de belleza femeninos llevan a las mujeres a incorporar en forma de ideal las normas del grupo (véase Levinton 2003), que pasan, básicamente, por el freno al desarrollo de su individualidad. Cuanto más «inscrita» está una persona, más demuestra su adhesión a la ley del grupo, lo que explica por qué en la mayoría de los grupos conocidos, las mujeres marcan más sus cuerpos que los hombres (Berns 1988; Bohanan 1988; Drewal 1988; Roberts 1988; Rubin 1988; Faris 1998; Inckle 2017: 74-5, etc.).

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nómica presente un grupo social, más variedad de combinaciones entre la identidad relacional y la individualidad tendrán sus miembros. Las mujeres han reproducido una identidad casi exclusivamente relacional hasta llegar a la modernidad (porque el orden patriarcal les ha impedido desarrollar rasgos de individualidad), al igual que sucede con las pertenecientes a sociedades no modernas (Hernando 2018). Pero los hombres se han caracterizado (al igual que sucede con las mujeres en la modernidad) por distintos grados de individualidad y, por tanto, de capacidad de agencia/poder y deseo de cambio, dependiendo de su posición dentro del grupo. Este abanico de posibilidades en el grado en que las mujeres y los hombres de un mismo grupo pueden, bien resistirse, bien adaptarse, o bien liderar los cambios, se nos olvida cuando analizamos el registro arqueológico y reconstruimos las dinámicas del pasado. No solo la arqueología historicista, sino también la procesual o la posprocesual han puesto la atención, exclusivamente, en aquellas evidencias correspondientes a las actuaciones de quienes lideran los cambios, o lo que es lo mismo, tienen el poder. Insisto en que con ello se hacen eco de la filosofía ilustrada, que valoró esta actitud como progresista y moralmente superior, al tiempo que consideró que la resistencia a los cambios solo podía proceder de la pereza, la cobardía o la menor inteligencia —resulta muy ilustrativo a este respecto el manifiesto «¿Qué es la Ilustración?» del propio Kant (1784)—. Por todo lo que llevo argumentado, espero que se entienda que, en mi opinión, la graduación entre los polos «resistencia a/búsqueda de» los cambios se corresponde con la graduación «ausencia de poder/máximas posiciones de poder o especialización» dentro de cada sociedad. Si en arqueología documentamos la complejidad socioeconómica y la existencia de posiciones de trabajo y poder diferenciadas, entonces tendremos que asumir que siempre existirán dinámicas de resistencia a los cambios por parte de aquellos (mujeres y hombres) que no participen de posiciones especializadas o de poder. La corriente feminista de estudio de las actividades de mantenimiento (Colomer et al. 1998; Montón-Subías y Sánchez Romero 2008; Montón-Subías 2011; Sánchez Romero 2018) ya había puesto la atención en los ritmos distintos de cambio que caracterizan a las actividades de las mujeres del pasado comparadas con las que son inherentes a las protagonizadas por los hombres con poder, únicas estudiadas por la arqueología (González Marcén et al. 2007; Brumfield y Robin 2008; González Marcén y Montón Subías 2009). Si se observa cerámica de cocina, por ejemplo, se pueden obtener conclusiones muy distintas a las observadas en cerámica de lujo coetánea y extraer conclusiones novedosas sobre aspectos fun-

damentales de orden socioeconómico (véase por ejemplo, el interesante caso analizado por Elizabeth Brumfield 1991 en el área maya). Marcoux (2004: 52; también Connerton 1989) insistía en que los cambios en la conciencia «solo adquieren eficacia cuando alcanzan el nivel de las rutinas, las formas no-discursivas de conocimiento y las prácticas que vinculan cuerpos y objetos». Con ello profundizaba en la idea de habitus ya anticipada por Marcel Mauss (1935) y desarrollada después por Bourdieu (2007), y en la de técnicas del cuerpo de propio Mauss y o las tecnologías del yo del posterior Foucault (1988), aunque hacía indisociable de esos procesos siempre a la cultura material. La arqueología poscolonial empieza a poner atención en el esfuerzo que han hecho todos aquellos proyectos coloniales cuyo objetivo, como el de las misiones, era también «civilizar» (sensu Fanon 2009 [1952]) a los colonizados, transformar sus estructuras más básicas de vida cotidiana, es decir, sus actividades de mantenimiento (Montón Subías 2007, 2018); o en las novedosas conclusiones que pueden obtenerse respecto a dichos contactos en la protohistoria, dependiendo de las evidencias relativas a las prácticas de cocina (Marín Aguilera 2016). Si la arqueología prestara atención a las rutinas que sostienen a una sociedad, tal vez llegaría a la conclusión de que los criterios tecnológicos que rigen su división en etapas no son indicadores de cambios profundos del orden social, que solo se constatan de manera total al observar las expresiones materiales de los sectores menos individualizados (más relacionales) del grupo. Desde otra óptica, el equipo de investigación del Incipit (CSIC) liderado por Felipe Criado, presta atención desde hace tiempo, siguiendo a Clastres, a las tendencias intrasociales contrarias a la división social y a la formación del Estado en ciertos casos de la prehistoria reciente (ParceroOubiña y Criado Boado 2013; Campagno 2014; Criado-Boado 2014). Y en los últimos años, Gonzalo Aranda (2013, 2015; Aranda et al. 2018) está demostrando la complejidad de las dinámicas internas en la cultura de El Argar, aportando datos empíricos sobre la existencia de ritmos distintos de cambio dentro del mismo grupo social. Basándose en abundante evidencia radiocarbónica demuestra por ejemplo que, simultáneamente a los enterramientos individuales con ricos ajuares que hasta ahora parecían caracterizar a esa cultura, existieron enterramientos megalíticos colectivos, clara prueba de la convivencia de sectores identitarios (y por tanto con agencia y poder diferenciados) dentro del mismo grupo social. Tal vez otros casos (pienso, por ejemplo, en la cultura campaniforme) podrían comenzar a ser cuestionados desde una perspectiva que contemple la inevitable existencia de ritmos de cambio

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diferentes dentro de la misma sociedad y, por tanto, de combinaciones identitarias y expresiones materiales diferentes. Lo relacional, comunitario y recurrente no es retardatario (como pretendía la Ilustración), sino esencial para el sostenimiento del orden social y, en todo caso, condición imprescindible para sostener a aquellos miembros del grupo que lideran el cambio y la innovación (Hernando 2018). Al contemplar estas dinámicas, además, se presta atención a todos los actores sociales (en términos de género y de diferencias socioeconómicas internas), y no solo a los que encarnan el poder (Brumfield 2009). Este aparentemente sutil cambio de perspectiva introduciría una orientación profundamente crítica, pues al demostrar la existencia de tendencias relacionales dentro del mismo grupo social en el que solo los más individualizados buscan el cambio y el poder, se estaría legitimando su importancia para el orden social también en la actualidad. Es decir, al demostrar que la sociedad no es uniforme, ni está únicamente representada por sus miembros más individualizados, se ayudaría a entender la aportación que hacen a nuestra propia sociedad los sectores más relacionales (los que encarnan el trabajo menos especializado y la ausencia de poder, tanto hombres como mujeres). Y se desle-

gitimaría la identificación entre el desenfrenado ritmo de cambio que nos arrastra a todos en la actualidad y la noción de progreso, así como con la suposición de que ese ritmo es consecuencia de los deseos, las aspiraciones y los valores de todo el grupo social. Tal vez estas son algunas de las razones por las que hasta ahora la resistencia al cambio (y la identidad relacional que la sostiene) no han sido objeto de estudio de la arqueología. Y tal vez, precisamente por ello, haya llegado el momento de insistir en prestarles atención. AGRADECIMIENTOS Este trabajo es resultado de la investigación realizada en el proyecto HUM2016-77564-C2-2-P, titulado «Cultura material, colonialismo y género en Etiopía. Una aproximación etnoarqueológica», financiado por el MICINN. Agradezco a Alfredo González Ruibal las facilidades dadas para ponerlo en marcha. A los gumuz, dats’in y awá el privilegio de haber podido compartir algunos momentos de sus vidas y el aprendizaje que eso ha supuesto para mí. Y a los editores de este volumen, Katina Lillios, Inés Sastre y Pedro Díazdel-Río, por haber hecho posible que vea la luz.

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Marín-Aguilera, B. (2016): «Food, Identity and Power Entanglements in South Iberia between the 9th–6th Centuries BC.», en L. Campbell et al. (eds.), Creating Material Worlds: The Uses of Identity in Archaeology. Oxbow Books, Oxford: 195-214. Mauss, M. (2006 [1935]): «Techniques of the Body», en M. Mauss, Techniques, Technology and Civilization. Editado por N. Schangler. Durkheim Press/Bergham Books, New York/ Oxford: 77-95.

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V. PERSPECTIVES ON THE BIOGEOGRAPHIC AND CULTURAL ADAPTATIONS OF EARLY HUMANS DURING THE FIRST INTERCONTINENTAL DISPERSALS Ignacio de la Torre / Alfonso Benito-Calvo / Faysal Bibi / Jackson Njau / Shuwen Pei / Florent Rivals Haowen Tong / Kevin Uno / Sara Varela / Xiujie Wu

Abstract Our understanding of the emergence and dispersal of the earliest tool-making hominins has been revolutionised in the last decade, with sites in eastern Africa and China pushing records of both events several hundred thousand years earlier than previously thought. In recent years, climate and environmental factors have been considered by many as primary drivers of these evolutionary events in human history. However, models linking Earth’s dynamics with biological speciation, cultural innovation and migration events with climate require further testing, and recent discoveries suggest that the picture of the earliest human colonization across the Old World is far more complex, demanding new approaches to the biogeography and adaptive behaviours of early humans. In this paper, we argue for a broader geographic approach to the study of early human occupation dynamics comparing long archaeological sequences from eastern Africa and China. We thus review major research questions involved in the investigation of the earliest human migrations and propose a route map to better understand the alternative evolutionary trajectories adopted by hominins that shared an overarching biological and cultural background, but that faced different climatic and biogeographic challenges and opportunities.

que retrotraen ambos eventos varios cientos de miles de años antes de lo que se pensaba. A menudo, los factores climáticos y medioambientales se han considerado como los actores principales que guiaron la mayoría de los eventos evolutivos en nuestra especie. Sin embargo, los modelos que vinculan dinámicas terrestres climáticas con especiación biológica, innovación cultural y eventos migratorios requieren una validación más sólida, y necesitan de nuevas aproximaciones a la biogeografía y conductas adaptativas de los primeros humanos. En el presente artículo proponemos la necesidad de adoptar una aproximación geográfica amplia al estudio de las dinámicas de ocupación de los primeros humanos, basada en la comparación de África oriental y China, regiones que contienen dos de las secuencias más largas de primeros yacimientos arqueológicos en todo el mundo. Repasamos así los temas de investigación principales relacionados con el estudio de las primeras migraciones humanas, y proponemos una hoja de ruta para la comprensión de las trayectorias evolutivas alternativas adoptadas por homininos que, aun compartiendo un fondo biológico y cultural común, se enfrentaron a retos y oportunidades climáticas y biográficas diferentes. Palabras clave: primeros talladores, migraciones humanas, Pleistoceno inferior en China y África.

Keywords: early stone tool makers, hominin migrations, early Pleistocene in China and Africa. Resumen La comprensión de la aparición y dispersión de los primeros homininos que usaron herramientas ha experimentado una revolución en la última década, con yacimientos en África oriental y China

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5.1. INTRODUCTION

chaeological record; as the gaps between known sites become wider in time and space, it becomes crucial to go beyond first-appearance discussions and focus on the broader biogeographic and cultural patterns involved. In addition, research on the premodern human occupation of the Old World can no longer be compartmentalised regionally, and any comprehensive study should be based on a comparative analysis of the alternative evolutionary and cultural pathways observed in each area. The need for drawing similarities and differences between the earliest archaeological sequences – those of Africa and Asia – has been recognised in recent years, but efforts have focused on either general literature reviews of the evidence in each region (Schick 1994; Dennell and Roebroeks 2006; Norton and Braun 2010), or comparisons of particular attributes of some stone tools (Norton and Bae 2008; Petraglia and Shipton 2008; Lycett and Bae 2010). In the discipline of archaeology as a whole, substantial fieldwork efforts in the last few decades have produced extensive datasets, and the time is ripe for large-scale synthetic research (Kintigh et al. 2014). The archaeology of premodern humans is no exception to this trend, particularly in the two regions concerning this paper; triggered by the discoveries at Olduvai Gorge, fieldwork in eastern Africa since the 1960s has produced an unparalleled dataset of Early Stone Age sites. Similarly, the exponential growth of scientific research in China since the 1990s has multiplied the number of archaeological sites and revolutionised our understanding of human evolution in Asia. The synthetic perspective advocated by Kintigh et al. (2014) for archaeology – also identified as one of the grand challenges in the study of cultural evolution as a whole (Brewer et al. 2017) – has indeed been substantiated in Antonio Gilman’s career, in which a comparative approach has proved to be a highly productive research strategy (e.g., Gilman 1991). Such perspective is now possible and greatly needed to properly understand the ecological and cultural patterns of early humans. Nonetheless, such research should be based on the systematic analysis of quantitative datasets (thus superseding the current stage of superficial literature review comparisons) and include computational modelling – also identified as a general priority for the advance of the discipline (Kintigh et al. 2014). Given the lack of systematic comparisons between the eastern African and Chinese sites, metadata research must also be accompanied by a direct analysis of archaeological assemblages. In summary, the confirmation of eastern Africa and China as the regions with the longest record of early archaeological sequences and the substantial datasets produced in recent years, present a unique opportunity to examine the be-

Timing of the emergence of the earliest techno-complexes (De la Torre 2011) and the first hominin dispersals from Africa into Europe (Roebroeks 2006) and Asia (Dennell and Roebroeks 2005) are regularly pushed back. This pace has accelerated in the last decade, when our views have changed radically with the earliest artefacts reported at 3.3 million years ago (Ma) in Africa (Harmand et al. 2015), 1.85 Ma in Georgia (Ferring et al. 2011), 1.2 Ma in Southwestern Europe (Carbonell et al. 2008), and potentially at 2.1 Ma in China (Zhu et al. 2018). While the importance of such discoveries cannot be overstated, it is also true that the field is dominated by a ‘joining-up-the-dots’ perspective (Dennell 2017) focused on first appearance data, which is by default provisional and is proving to be unreliable as an explanatory device for human biological and cultural adaptations. Pliny’s motto “ex Africa semper aliquid novi” drives a paradigm in which this continent saw the emergence of consecutive species of Early Pleistocene (Antón and Swisher 2004) and Middle Pleistocene (Lahr and Foley 2001) premodern humans and Homo sapiens (Stringer and Galway-Witham 2018), who then colonised the Old World. Despite the problems of this paradigm (Dennell and Roebroeks 2005), Africa is generally seen as the only region in the world with continuous human occupation throughout the entire Early and Middle Pleistocene (Dennell 2003). Massive chronological gaps between the earliest human evidence in eastern latitudes of Europe (Ferring et al. 2011) and in the western Mediterranean (Carbonell et al. 2008; Toro-Moyano et al. 2013) may suggest failed initial migrations and more than one “Out of Africa” event, while the fragmentary evidence in northern Europe could be linked to intermittent human occupation only during interglacial periods (Roebroeks 2005). An even more complicated picture emerges from Asia, where new discoveries (Zhu et al. 2018) suggesting human presence at 2.1 Ma would necessarily imply that Homo ergaster/ erectus was not the first colonizer of Eurasia, as often thought (e.g., Antón 2003), and where the Early and Middle Pleistocene archaeological record is so sparse that a ‘source-and-sink model’ (Martinón-Torres et al. 2018) has been invoked to interpret a discontinuous pattern of occupation for the continent during this time. A compendium of the 21st century grand challenges for archaeology (Kintigh et al. 2014) recognises, however, that key questions of the discipline are no longer concerned with the earliest, the longest, or the otherwise unique. If anything, the ever-increasing age depth for the emergence and dispersal of the first human cultures only exacerbates the complexities of the early ar-

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havioural ecology of premodern humans during the earliest colonization of the Old World, but also a challenge due to the disparity of archives, research traditions and the lack of systematic intra and inter-regional comparisons. Such exceptional challenges and opportunities should constitute the basis of new research programmes to compare early human cultural and ecological adaptations in what some would consider the source of most hominin species (eastern Africa) and in the recipient area for the first human migration/s (namely eastern Asia). Stemming from this all-embracing objective to understand the alternative evolutionary trajectories adopted by hominins that shared an overarching biological and cultural background (i.e., they were premodern humans using Early Stone Age technological solutions), research questions that deserve special attention include: how can we identify migration waves, and how many were there in the Early and Middle Pleistocene, between the two regions? How continuous is human occupation in the supposed evolutionary centre in eastern Africa as opposed to the discontinuous record of China? To what extent do biotic versus abiotic evolutionary factors dictate divergent trajectories in the colonization of Africa and Asia? Can risks and challenges faced by early humans in each region explain variations in hominin adaptations? Such questions are crucial to our understanding of Early Stone Age behavioural ecology, and structure the following themes.

see species turnovers in the context of climate change (Vrba 1996). These climatic hypotheses have used the eastern Africa record to link aridification events (De Menocal 2011), lake pulses (Trauth et al. 2005) or increasing environmental variability (Potts 1996) with species turnover and migration. In the northern latitudes of Eurasia hominin speciation events might not been as recurrent as in Africa, but climatic variations must have played a fundamental role in shaping human biogeographic ranges, due to the constraints imposed by the advance of glaciers during stadial stages. This process is relatively well understood in Europe for modern human occupation during the Last Glacial Maximum (Tallavaara et al. 2015; Burke et al. 2017), the local extinctions of Neanderthals in northern latitudes (Hublin and Roebroeks 2009) and across the continent (Tzedakis et al. 2007), and the punctuated nature of Early Pleistocene hominin colonization (Hosfield and Cole 2018). A similar latitudinal expansion and contraction of hominin populations dictated by climatic fluctuations is considered for Asia (Dennell 2003, 2017a), although here the model requires testing due to the nearly complete absence of environmental proxies from archaeological contexts. While the influence of abiotic mechanisms in biogeographic distributions both in eastern Africa and in China is evident, they do not satisfactorily explain patterns observed in the archaeological and paleontological record. In eastern Africa, Bibi and Kiessling (2015) emphasized the importance of continuous (and likely biotic) factors in modulating faunal change across the Pliocene and Pleistocene, whereas comparison of a tightly-constrained part of the Early Pleistocene sequence at Olduvai detected no changes in the faunal community despite intervening climatic fluctuations (Bibi et al. 2018). This suggests that mammal communities might be more robust than expected and that their foodwebs remained relatively stable (Nenzén, Montoya and Varela 2014). In the case of China, the biogeographic division of modern faunal communities (Xie, MacKinnon and Li 2004) is broadly reproduced in the Pleistocene (Tong 2006) and there is paleontological evidence for shifts following climatic oscillations (Jablonski et al. 2000; Norton et al. 2010), so it is assumed that hominin ranges also fluctuated accordingly (Dennell 2013). Despite the appeal of this model, the archaeological evidence does not entirely follow predictions. For example, Zhoukoudien is the only site where human presence is recurrently recorded throughout the Middle Pleistocene (Shen, Gao and Granger 2009), and yet is located at quite a high altitude. In addition, the lack of environmental proxies to

5.2. EARLY HUMAN EXPANSION DYNAMICS ACROSS THE OLD WORLD – THE PREMISES

5.2.1. The role of the Red Queen and the Court Jester in early human dispersals and faunal turnovers in East Africa and China According to Benton (2009), paleoecologists typically contrast evolutionary events through a ‘Court Jester’ perspective (one where extrinsic, abiotic factors such as tectonic episodes or climate change are responsible for extinction and speciation), whereas biologists – who normally are less concerned with time depth – often privilege the classic Darwinian theory (nowadays summarised in the ‘Red Queen’ hypothesis) that invokes intrinsic factors of species competition (see also Van Valen 1973; Barnosky 2001). While both perspectives coexist in human evolutionary studies, there is an overwhelming preference for abiotic explanations, from models that highlight the role of geographic features in shaping speciation (Bailey, Reynolds and King 2011) to those that

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test if the occupation of northern latitudes was indeed limited to interstadials is accompanied by a strikingly low density of human presence in the central and southern parts of China through the entire Pleistocene. While it has been proposed that premodern humans were ill-adapted to the subtropical forests of southern China (e.g., Ciochon and Bettis 2009), low density of hominin occupation in the central regions – which would be expected to act as refugia during colder periods (Dennell 2017b) – cannot be attributed only to sampling and/or taphonomic bias, given that paleontological assemblages in this area are reasonably abundant. Therefore, we argue that climatic factors alone do not explain hominin biogeographic dynamics. We hypothesize that biotic interactions (e.g., competition), which are known to be essential in shaping biodiversity and biogeographic patterns (Araujo and Rozenfeld 2014), may have played a fundamental role in hominin occupation dynamics, and therefore need to be properly addressed. This is particularly relevant when considering that early Homo had recently encroached on the carnivore guild (Pobiner and Blumenschine 2003), and therefore ecological competition with resident carnivore species may have been significant.

have yet been indisputably reported in the Early Pleistocene of China, so it is also assumed that the founding Homo populations in East Asia remained isolated from cultural and genetic flows operating in the rest of the Old World. There is, however, no archaeological evidence that conclusively supports (or falsifies, for that matter) this hypothesis. Pei et al. (2017) have highlighted how little we know about the technological strategies ruling artefact production in the earliest Chinese sites, which makes it even more pertinent to consider these in relation to eastern African ‘handaxe-free assemblages’ (cf. De la Torre 2009) of a similar age. Equally important is the gap in our knowledge of mammal taxa other than hominins; while comparative anatomy of African and Asian early human fossils has received substantial attention (Antón 2003; Rightmire 2008), attempts to insert earliest human dispersal waves into the context of wider mammal migrations are limited (O’Regan et al. 2011; Tong et al. 2011) and have not involved direct comparisons of the faunal assemblages. The archaeological evidence of the Middle Pleistocene is also contentious. Evidence for a new dispersal of Acheulean hominins from Africa is reported at ~0.8 Ma (Goren-Inbar et al. 2000), but there is no agreement whether it reached eastern Asia. In recent years, handaxe-bearing archaeological sequences have been discovered in central China (see a review in Li, Kuman and Li 2018), thus forcing a reconsideration of the meaning of the Movius Line. For some, eastern Asian handaxes are the result of independent innovations and technological convergence with the West (Corvinus 2004; Lycett and Bae 2010). Alternatively, other authors emphasize similarities with the African and western Asian Acheulean (Petraglia and Shipton, 2008; Li, Kuman and Li 2018), implying the existence of Middle Pleistocene cultural interactions across the entire Old World. Most of the discussion, however, has revolved around the comparison of handaxe metrics from published sources, with no consideration of handaxe technical features or the rest of the elements of the reduction sequences. These latter lines of inquiry, based on a first-hand comparison of materials from Africa and China, may be more effective in deciphering the overarching knapping schemes (De la Torre and Mora 2009), could facilitate a more solid assessment of homologies, technological convergences or shared technological principles, and could provide a methodology to evaluate the extent of continental interactions. Additionally, and although the recently discovered handaxe sequences have rarely yielded fossils, many other Middle Pleistocene sites in China contain abundant bone assemblages (Tong 2006), which so far have played no role in a revaluation of the Movius Line.

5.2.2. Cultural and biological connectivity between two continents? The first appearance datum of hominins in China has steadily been pushed back from ~1 Ma (Schick and Toth 2000) to 1.36 Ma (Zhu et al. 2001), 1.66 Ma (Zhu et al. 2004) and now to potentially 2.1 Ma (Zhu et al. 2018). The discussion of human fossils has played an essential role in framing both the ecomorphological potential of early Homo to colonize new regions (Antón, Leonard and Robertson 2002) and in ascertaining the evolutionary links between the African and Asian premodern human demes (Antón 2003; Kaifu 2017), although they have often reached opposite conclusions (e.g., Martinón-Torres et al. 2007; Rightmire 2008). If paleoanthropological discussions are inconclusive regarding the timing and extent of gene flow between the two continents, the interpretation of archaeological patterns is no less challenging. This essentially revolves around the controversial ‘Movius Line’, which arguably separates assemblages without handaxes to the east of India from those with handaxes in the rest of the Old-World Lower Palaeolithic (Schick 1994). Given the ever-increasing age of the earliest sites in China, it is now accepted that early Homo arrived in East Asia equipped with an Oldowan technology, and before the emergence of the Acheulean in eastern Africa. No handaxes

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5.2.3. Centre and periphery in the Early and Middle Pleistocene? Continuities and discontinuities of the early archaeological record

historic discipline is setting an agenda to evaluate the impact of discontinuities in the evolution of past societies (Barberena et al. 2017), an in-depth analysis of the tempo and modo of African and Asian Early and Middle Pleistocene sequences is essential to test their roles as centre and periphery during the age of premodern humans.

Eastern Africa may have acted as a source area in which hominins – and many other mammal lineages – emerged and evolved. During the Early Pleistocene, eastern Africa is often considered as the main source area for technological innovations and dispersals into Eurasia. The translation of Wallerstein’s (1974) concepts into Prehistoric research (Rowlands et al. 1987) has also been applied to the early archaeological record by Dennell (2003), who portrays eastern Africa as the only part of the Old World with continuous human occupation throughout the entire Pleistocene. In contrast, most of Eurasia remained unoccupied – or only sporadically inhabited – by premodern humans, with ephemeral colonization conditioned by latitudinal variations in of ecosystems between glacial and interglacial periods (ibid.; Roebroeks 2006). Recent genetic studies estimate that effective human population size in the entire Old World before 1.2 Ma was under 26,000 people (Huff et al. 2010), which suggests hominins would have been an exceedingly rare proportion of the mammal communities in Eurasia (Dennell 2017b), and provides further support to the notion of essentially deserted landscapes throughout the Early Pleistocene. Populations may have not been much larger in the Middle Pleistocene, particularly in the case of Asia, where low demographic density has been used to explain the Movius Line (Lycett and Bae 2010; Lycett and Norton 2010). Since the loss of cultural traits and a lack of innovation transmission occur when small demographic levels (Shennan 2000) and local extinctions (Premo and Kuhn 2010) predominate, low hominin density and weakness of social networks could have precluded cultural transmission of innovations in Asia, whereas higher interconnectedness in Africa enabled the spread of the Acheulean (Lycett and Norton 2010). But alternative views are also possible, in which Africa too could have been the scenario of independent emergence and disappearance of early technologies where cultural transmission was minimal (Tennie et al. 2017), and therefore where a continuity of the archaeological record is not a prerequisite. Once again, these models remain mostly theoretical, but the dramatic time depth gained by the earliest archaeological record both in Africa and China in the last few years, and the significant number of archaeological sites now reported in both regions – many of them in stratigraphic succession in various sedimentary basins – offers new opportunities for testing such hypotheses. In the current context where archaeology as a

5.2.4. Risks and early human resilience in challenging environments Early Homo (sensu Antón, Potts and Aiello 2014) and Middle Pleistocene premodern humans – who may include more than one deme (Antón 2003; Rightmire 2008; Kaifu 2017) – show a trend towards increased body and brain size, developmental plasticity and dietary expansion. Yet as an African lineage, early Homo would have encountered thermoregulatory challenges in the northern latitudes of Eurasia (Ruff 1993), challenges that would have needed to be met with cultural insulation solutions (Hosfield 2016). The largest concentration of Asian Early Pleistocene sites is found in the Nihewan basin, where today (i.e., an interstadial period) winter temperatures drop below -10°C. Given the rare evidence of fire use before the end of the Middle Pleistocene (Roebroeks and Villa 2011), it is plausible to depict the settlement of the northern latitudes of China as episodic (only during interstadials) and seasonal – during the warm months of the year (Dennell 2013). This model, however, remains entirely hypothetical, which is unfortunate given that we now know Early Pleistocene hominins did occupy northern European latitudes during cold periods (Parfitt et al. 2010), and arguments exist in favour of year-round (rather than seasonal) occupation (Hosfield 2016). Nonetheless, the archaeological evidence in Europe is too sparse, and a proper assessment of early human resilience to extreme environments should include the richer record of northeast China. Early Homo’s encroachment on the carnivore guild (Pobiner and Blumenschine 2003) represented an adaptive opportunity with paramount evolutionary implications (Aiello and Wheeler 1995), but it may have also presented significant risks. If australopithecines regularly faced predation by African carnivores (Brain 1981) before hominins began to compete for meat resources, once early Homo became part of the carnivore guild at ~2.5 Ma, risks were unlikely to have decreased (Van Valkenburgh 2001). Njau and Blumenschine (2012) showed that early Homo faced high predation risk from predators and competition with carnivores (Pante et al. 2018). Still, carnivore paleoguilds of Africa show a clear acceleration of extinctions after 1.5 Ma, which has been correlated with the progressively higher

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position of Homo in trophic chains (Lewis 1997; Werdelin and Lewis 2013). While a similar pattern of hominin-induced extinction of carnivores may have occurred in Europe (Croitor and Brugal 2010; Meloro and Clauss 2012), the evidence in Asia is ambiguous, and there is a pressing need for dedicated taphonomic studies of Early Pleistocene sites (Pei et al. 2017). Additionally, a significant number of Chinese Middle Pleistocene caves have yielded hominin fossils alongside remains of other animals, but no (or very few) artefacts (Bakken 1997; Liu, Zhang and Wu 2005; Wu et al. 2019). Even the richest Middle Pleistocene archaeological assemblage in China, Zhoukoudian, could be a palimpsest of hyaena-den accumulations (Binford and Ho 1985), where >60% of human fossils bear tooth marks (Boaz et al. 2004). All of this leads us to hypothesize that many cave deposits in Middle Pleistocene China were formed by carnivores, rather than hominins. This may be pointing at a very different pattern of carnivore-hominin interactions from that observed in Africa and Europe, but needs validation via firsthand analysis of the evidence.

ing of these models, however, should be tested with first-hand analyses; taxonomic systematics of selected geographic regions across wide temporal spans can be used, for example to portray changes in community structure before and after stonetool making emerged and hominins encroached on the carnivore guild. Early archaeological sites in China are secularly branded as Oldowan-like or Mode I (see recent reviews in Pei et al. 2017, 2019), thus emphasizing their technological affinities with the African Oldowan, but no direct, systematic comparisons of assemblages have ever been conducted. Therefore, it is unclear what their shared features are, apart from being core-and-flake technologies, and thus the alleged close cultural phylogeny is an assumption rather than a proof that the earliest colonization of China was made by Oldowan hominins. First-hand comparison of stone tool collections from African Oldowan sites and those with a similar age in China (particularly the rich Nihewan archaeological sequence) is therefore essential to establish a systematic set of defining features for both continents. In a similar vein, the Movius Line controversy has only recently prompted a quantitative approach, but the debate is still based on published material and grounded on metrical attributes that are not necessarily informative of similarities and differences between East and West handaxes. Again, first-hand comparisons between African and Chinese Middle Pleistocene sites are vital, and new studies should go beyond formal comparisons of metrical features and focus on the technological principles governing artefact production. Nonetheless, comparisons should not be limited exclusively to stone artefacts; the lack of comparative analysis between African and Chinese faunas has severely limited our understanding of mammalian biogeography throughout the Pleistocene. Much primary work – in the form of direct comparative taxonomic analysis – is needed to test the alleged biogeographic isolation of China during the Early and Middle Pleistocene, and to understand whether human dispersals took place within a broader context of faunal dispersals. Concerning the explanatory potential of the centre and periphery concepts to depict earliest human dispersals, the main assumption to be tested is that discontinuities in the archaeological record of local sequences are linked to increased aridity (eastern Africa) and cold conditions (China), and that the opposite will be true during benign periods. However, despite the considerable intensity of research in eastern Africa, and the growing record in China, no comprehensive database yet exists of all the Early-Middle Pleistocene sequences and the archaeological proxies therein, so that they can be contrasted with the paleoenvironmental record.

5.3. DISCUSSION – A ROADMAP TO THE INVESTIGATION OF BIOGEOGRAPHIC AND CULTURAL PATTERNS DURING THE EARLIEST HUMAN DISPERSALS Competing hypotheses on the character and influence of climatic fluctuations in East African and Chinese mammal communities require validation through acquisition of new empirical evidence from environmental proxies but also through computational modeling, to produce Early and Middle Pleistocene climate models for both regions. Nonetheless, considering that the impact of Pleistocene climatic changes on longterm mammalian community structure appears to have been minimal in some regions (e.g. Bibi and Kiessling 2015), other factors may induce community collapse. For instance, the impact of early humans in local extinctions is suspected (Petraglia 2017), particularly during the colonization of new territories (Dennell 2017), but is yet to be properly investigated. Given the existence of long paleontological records before and after the emergence of stone tool technology in Africa and the arrival of humans in China, modeling the impact of hominin encroachment on mammal species biogeography and turnover is feasible and should be a priority of future research, particularly by analysing changes at a local scale using faunal assemblages from African and Chinese fossil sites, and by running experiments on the reconstructed foodwebs to model hominin impact on the fossil mammal communities. Ground-truth-

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An assessment of the succession of archaeological sites within each sequence and an evaluation of density peaks, troughs and gaps is also due, and is now feasible thanks to the relatively detailed availability of published reports. Finally, the study of abiotic and biotic risks faced by early humans requires the formulation of new conceptual premises but also the application of new analytical techniques. As for the latter, speculative characterization of extreme environments conditioning human occupation should be tested through direct paleoecological analyses of relevant sites. Regarding biotic risks and inter-species competition, after three decades the hunting-scavenging debate of early Homo in Africa shows signs of having reached a conceptual and methodological impasse (Sahle, El Zaatari and White 2017). We thus advocate for a shift of focus where comparative analysis of bone surface modifications is coupled with a systematic assessment of community structures through time and space (e.g., Patterson et al. 2017). Zooarchaeological analysis of assemblages from different periods using the same protocols would guarantee the application of standardized analytical methods (e.g., Njau and Gilbert 2016), and therefore that results are comparable (i.e., that hominin/carnivore involvement in the formation of each faunal assemblage can be assessed relatively to one another). More importantly, by adding a community structure dimension to studies, changes in the diversity, abundance, size and ecological preferences of potential prey and predator competitors can provide insights about human-carnivore interactions (e.g., Blumenschine et al. 2012).

during the first hominin dispersals across the Old Word. Significant efforts have been made earlier in the discipline (Movius 1948; Clark 1969) and in recent years (e.g., Petraglia and Korisettar 1998; Dennell 2003) to decipher global patterns of Early Stone Age occupation, but clearly more work can be done, particularly now, when the hard evidence – especially in China – is increasing exponentially. We have argued in this paper that such work requires new and unconventional approaches to decipher archaeological patterns, which should go beyond paleoanthropological considerations and evaluate the role of natural phenomena in shaping our understanding of Pleistocene data. New perspectives should also be adopted in the selection of units and scales of analysis, in order to embrace a myriad of temporal and geographical resolutions comprising both metadata and primary sources, and analyses ranging from macro to micro scales. This kind of approach should be based on international collaborations where new data sets are produced, compared and synthesised, and be grounded in multidisciplinary perspectives that combine standard archaeological approaches with expertise ranging from geochemistry to computational modelling. The application of new analytical techniques to both legacy data and primary sources and their consolidation into models linking archaeological and paleoclimatic data, alongside the consideration of archaeological patterns in their biotic and abiotic context, will enable validation of previous theories and formulation of novel hypotheses on the tempo and modo of earliest human occupation in the Old Word, and particularly of its longest sequences in East Africa and China.

5.4. CONCLUSIONS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Regionalization of the archaeological record from the Middle Palaeolithic / Middle Stone Age onwards requires a careful consideration of biological and cultural local trajectories to assess variability in a global context. In contrast, the Lower Palaeolithic / Early Stone Age (and particularly its earlier stages) shares some essential characteristics – e.g., it is a hand-held stone tool technology produced by premodern humans – that may promote searching for global patterns

We thank Pedro Díaz-del-Río, Inés Sastre and Katina Lillios for inviting us to participate in this volume, and we are honoured to be part of this festschrift to Antonio Gilman, who has contributed so importantly to comparative research in prehistory. This project has received funding from the European Research Council (ERC) under the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme (BICAEHFID, grant agreement No. 832980).

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VI. THE MIDDLE PALEOLITHIC REVOLUTION, THE ORIGINS OF ART, AND THE EPISTEMOLOGY OF PALEOANTHROPOLOGY João Zilhão

Abstract Gilman (1984) proposed that an “Upper Paleolithic Revolution” triggered by technological progress and demographic growth, and standing for the emergence of ritual reciprocity mechanisms, explained the major behavioral innovations seen in Europe after 40,000 years ago. Subsequent developments have shown that the notion remains valid but that early manifestations of those behaviors can be seen in the archeological record since at least the beginning of the Last Interglacial, and across the Old World. Thus, the process that brought a world of many, diverse, ethnically bounded Humanities out of the womb of the unbounded single Humanity of earlier times was rather more gradual and longer; the beginning of the Middle Paleolithic/Middle Stone Age was the initial stage of such a revolution, the beginning of the Upper Paleolithic was the last. The finding that, in Neandertal Iberia, cave art dates back to >65,000 ago has been key to this reassessment of the Middle-to-Upper Paleolithic transition and, not unexpectedly, underwent some questioning. The arguments used, devoid of empirical basis as they are, highlight the extent to which the debate of Paleoanthropology’s “Big Issues” is biased by often implicit, obsolete assumptions inherited from the origins of the discipline and by the social/cultural context of knowledge production.

pa hace 40 000 años supusieron una «Revolución del Paleolítico Superior», desencadenada por el progreso tecnológico y el crecimiento demográfico y representaron la emergencia de mecanismos de reciprocidad ritualizada. Los descubrimientos realizados desde entonces respaldan la validez del concepto, aunque al mismo tiempo han revelado que el registro arqueológico contiene manifestaciones precoces de tales conductas, distribuidas por todo el Viejo Mundo, desde por lo menos los inicios del Ultimo Interglaciar. Por lo tanto, el proceso que a partir de la humanidad sin fronteras de épocas anteriores engendró un mundo de muchas y diversas humanidades separadas por barreras étnicas tuvo que ser bastante más gradual y largo; el inicio del Paleolítico medio fue su etapa primera, el inicio del Paleolítico superior fue la final. El descubrimiento de que, en la Península Ibérica, el arte de las cuevas tiene al menos 65 000 años y se remonta a los neandertales, ha sido clave para este replanteamiento de la transición Paleolítico Medio-Superior. Como por otra parte era esperable, ese descubrimiento no dejó de cuestionarse, pero los argumentos utilizados están desprovistos de base empírica. Ilustran más bien hasta qué punto el debate sobre las «Grandes Cuestiones» de la paleoantropología llega a estar sesgado por supuestos obsoletos heredados de los orígenes de la disciplina, frecuentemente apenas implícitos, y por el contexto cultural y social en que se da la producción del conocimiento científico.

Keywords: Neandertals, modern humans, Upper Paleolithic Revolution, Antonio Gilman, Cave Art, Dating, U-series, Radiocarbon.

Palabras clave: Neandertales, humanos modernos, Revolución del Paleolítico Superior, Antonio Gilman, arte parietal, datación, serie del Uranio, radiocarbono.

Resumen Gilman (1984) propuso que las grandes innovaciones de conducta que se observan en Euro-

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6.1. INTRODUCTION

Eurasia, and did so extensively, not occasionally only. Subsequent developments demonstrated that the aDNA of human fossils implied gene flux between Africa and Europe and between western Europe and central Asia during the Middle Pleistocene (Posth et al. 2017) – the time when branching off a common ancestor through isolation by distance and drift was supposed to have brought about the speciation of Homo neanderthalensis (Hublin 2009). Meanwhile, the sequencing of parts of the Neandertal genome had already sufficed to demonstrate presence of the human form of the FOXP2 gene (Krause et al. 2007), thereby eliminating the basis for speculations that Neandertals lacked advanced speech capabilities and symbolic language. At the same time, critical analysis of stratigraphic sequences, radiocarbon dates, and the relevant fossils’ technocomplex associations showed that material culture of undeniably symbolic nature was a feature of the archeological record left behind by European Neandertals, and this well before the time of contact with modern humans (for revisions of the evidence, cf. Zilhão 2001, 2007, 2013; Caron et al. 2011; Zilhão et al. 2011, 2015). In addition, re-excavation of the Bouffia Bonneval at La Chapelle-aux-Saints (France) proved the presence of a pit cut into the basal bedrock; combined with the human skeleton’s differential preservation (relative to the site’s faunal remains), this work satisfied the archeological and taphonomic criteria demanded by skeptics to ascertain intentional burial (Rendu et al. 2014). The exchange that followed (Dibble et al. 2015; Rendu et al. 2016) further exposed the double standards used by critics to deny the practice among Middle Paleolithic humans, as Belfer-Cohen and Hovers (1992) had already pointed out in the context of an earlier iteration of the intentional burial debate. The necessary implication of these developments was that Neandertals and their African contemporaries were not different species but geographical variants of a single Humanity – albeit one that, by early Upper Pleistocene times and because of population structure and low numbers, was significantly more internally diverse, both genetically and morphologically, than in the more recent past. Thus, to explain the transcontinental emergence of so-called “behavioral modernity” and its earliest manifestations’ now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t pattern (D’Errico 2003; Hovers and Belfer-Cohen 2006; Lorblanchet and Bahn 2017) one must resort to (a) the emergence of the ritual reciprocity mechanisms derived from alliance theory that Gilman had envisaged, and (b) proper understanding of the laws of uneven and combined development. Building on this conclusion and on the observation that the earliest burials were at sites

Thirty-five years ago, Explaining the Upper Paleolithic Revolution (Gilman 1984) succinctly exposed the shortcomings of the two models of the Middle-to-Upper Paleolithic transition (henceforth, the Transition) that prevailed through most of the second half of the 20th century: cultural determinism and biological reductionism. Cultural determinism had “the merit of focusing research on subsistence techniques, demography, and social organization, aspects of the archaeological record too often neglected in Paleolithic studies, but the specificity which gives the approach its heuristic value is carried to the point of becoming a theoretical defect,” because “the Upper Paleolithic Revolution is an Old-World-wide event and cannot be explained by local ecological gimmicks;” in addition, the approach failed “to link technical and social changes in a convincing causal sequence.” Biological reductionism fared no better: “Because biological changes underdetermine cultural ones, the biological approach fails to establish a plausible link between the assumed causes and the known manifestations of the Upper Paleolithic Revolution.” For instance, Even if, for the sake of argument, one were to allow that Homo sapiens sapiens was biologically more capable of cognitive representations such as language than his immediate predecessors, however, one would still not be able to use his increased abilities as a sufficient explanation for the new elements in his cultural repertoire. To say, for example, that CroMagnons were capable of painting caves (and that Neanderthals were not) does not explain why they painted them. Conversely, if painting caves is part of a more effective adaptive system, then one need not appeal to the capability of painting them in order to explain why the painting took place.

Most subsequent research, however, remained oblivious to these points of plain logic. Eventually, under the umbrella of the Recent Out-of-Africa (ROA) model of modern human origins (Stringer and Andrews 1988), one of these explanations of the Transition – biological reductionism, as epitomized by e.g. Klein (2000, 2003), Henshilwood and Marean (2003) or Mellars (2005) – became almost universally accepted. In the last decade, however, its foundations were definitively undermined by discoveries that falsified all of ROA’s empirically testable predictions. There is no need to be exhaustive here, but it is nonetheless useful to briefly review what such developments consisted of. Human Paleontology (Duarte et al. 1999; Trinkaus 2007) and Genetics (Green et al. 2010) showed that anatomically modern humans and Neandertals interbred at the time of contact in

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also used for habitation – and this regardless of whether Neandertals (e.g., Shanidar) or anatomically moderns (e.g. Skhul and Qafzeh) were involved – I have suggested that the emergence of “modern behavior” ought to be interpreted as signaling that of territoriality and ethnicity (Zilhão 2015). If, in later prehistoric contexts (e.g., the Mesolithic shell-middens of Scandinavia and Portugal), the close association between settlement and interment is taken to stand for the long-term focus of residential activity in a restricted number of places, why think otherwise for the Middle Paleolithic? The fact that we are dealing with much earlier times or with a “racially” distinct people is not reason enough. I thus suggested that Middle Paleolithic burials stood for “use of dead for the staking of a claim – by associating them with long-term residential use of certain sites, formal burial can be taken as signposting that ‘our ancestors lie here; this is our place’.” Even though the precision of available methods does not allow the analysis to proceed with the desirable resolution, further support for this view comes from a string of discoveries made over the first two decades of our century (Zilhão et al. 2010; Pike et al. 2012; Hoffmann et al. 2018a). These discoveries showed that (a) the emergence of burial coincided, broadly speaking, with that of body painting, personal ornaments, and object decoration, and (b) these behaviors first appeared much earlier than the time of the Transition as traditionally defined by e.g. Mellars (1973, 1989) or White (1982). Indeed, at several sites spread across western Eurasia, from Shanidar in Irak to Régourdou in France, the practice of burial dates back to at least the Last Interglacial (Maureille and Vandermeersch 2007; Maureille 2016; Pelletier et al. 2017). The perforated and ochred shells of the small marine mollusk Nassarius retrieved in archeological contexts of South Africa (at Blombos cave) and the Maghreb (at Grotte des Pigeons, Taforalt), persuasively interpreted as components of different types of beadwork (D’Errico et al. 2005, 2009), are also of Last Interglacial age – as are the levels from the caves of Qafzeh (Israel) (Bar-Yosef, Vandermeersch and Bar-Yosef 2009) and Aviones (Spain) (Hoffmann et al. 2018b) that yielded perforated or ochred valves of Glycymeris, Acanthocardia and Spondylus. Jewelry made of eagle talons and raptor feathers is another undisputed feature of the Neandertal-associated Middle Paleolithic of Europe, one which, at Krapina, in Croatia, may well stretch back to the same time range as the Aviones finds, if not beyond (Peresani et al. 2011; Radovčić et al. 2015). Altogether, these developments suggest a common underlying cause: a qualitative leap in the complexification of social relationships that might be described as a sort of “Middle Paleo-

lithic Revolution,” one that would have ignored continental barriers as much as the boundaries between Human Paleontology’s taxonomic categories. Such a leap would thus represent the first step of the process leading, sometime between forty and fifty thousand years ago, to the explosion of symbolic material culture seen at the onset of the Upper Paleolithic (in Eurasia) and the Later Stone Age (in Africa). Such an “Upper Paleolithic Revolution” would have represented the culmination, rather than the beginning, of a process of social transformation that had begun long before: following Gilman’s line of reasoning, that transformation consisted of the change from unlimited cooperation, among earlier humans, to closed circles of mutual aid, as observed among ethnographically documented hunter-gatherers. In keeping with the spirit of the “revolution” analogy, one might therefore describe these two moments as the February and the October of a single process. Put another way, if we look at the evidence not from the perspective of the stages of stone tool technology but from the perspective of the processes of social transformation, we see that the Transition is in fact a gradual process spanning the Middle Paleolithic time range, not a punctuated event occurring at the start of the Upper Paleolithic. 6.2. CAVE ART Until quite recently, art had remained immune to the ageing of the other elements of the “symbolic package.” Apparently, it would have emerged much later than personal ornamentation and object decoration, and it would be found in exclusive association with anatomically modern humans indeed. Based on this pattern, some were thus led to cling to the capability for artistic creation as the litmus test of behavioral and cognitive modernity. The comparatively late date of the first appearance of cave art in the archeological record thus became the last stronghold upon which biological reductionist, species-specific models of the emergence of language, symbolism and advanced cognition could hang: “Ask Dibble, Hublin and other sceptics what would persuade them that Neanderthals had minds like ours, and their answer is simple: a pattern of art or other sophisticated symbolic expression from a time when no modern humans could possibly have been around. ‘But I don’t think it exists,’ says Hublin” (Appenzeller 2013). It does. At three sites in Spain, U-series dating of calcium carbonate accretions established a minimum age of about 65,000 years for the underlying motifs: a geometric, scalariform sign at La Pasiega (Santander); a hand stencil at Maltravieso (Cáceres); and a painted stalag-

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Figure 6.1.  The Iberian cave paintings for which U-series dating of overlying calcite established a minimum age of 65,000 years. Top left. La Pasiega. Scalariform motif in panel 78 of Hall XI (overview and zoom-in on the dated cauliflower, sample PAS34, after sampling). Top right. Maltravieso. Hand stencil GS3b (original photo and D-stretch enhancement; the inset shows the dated cauliflower, sample MAL13, after sampling). Bottom. Ardales. Painted draperies in area II-A-3 and detail of fold 8; the position of sample ARD13 is indicated by the rectangles. Reproduced from Hoffmann et al. (2018a: figs. 1-3).

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mitic dome at Ardales (Málaga) (Hoffmann et al. 2018a) (fig. 6.1). At the latter site, the dating of other painted speleothems showed that we are dealing with at least two, probably more episodes of such activity stretching over a period of at least 25,000 years, which is suggestive of a long-standing tradition, not a short-lived, one-off burst. That people were going deep into caves to perform activities that can only be considered of a ritual nature since well before the onset of the Upper Paleolithic is otherwise demonstrated by the annular constructions of Bruniquel cave (France), dated to 176,500 years ago (Jaubert et al. 2016). These features are found 336 m from the entrance and implied the extraction and transport of the 2.2 tons of speleothems used to build their walls. In an Upper Paleolithic context, no one would hesitate in assigning a ritual nature to this activity, and one can hardly see what purely “functional” purpose would have required, or justified, the choice of location and the effort involved. It is at least clear that what is implied here is the level of cognitive complexity and social and logistical organization (knowledge of the underground world, advanced planning, division of tasks, provision of lighting, etc.) one infers from comparable Upper Paleolithic incursions into the deep karst (Rouzaud 1978). In short, with regards to archeological proxies, all the items in the trait-list of Upper Paleolithic-ness are now documented in early Last Glacial or Last Interglacial times – and recall that the dates for the Mousterian cave art of Iberia are minima only; it is entirely plausible that the true age of that art predates by thousands, if not tens of thousands of years, the growth of the carbonate accretions that eventually covered it. The single trait-list exception is “style in stone tool assemblages,” but it is an exception that quite possibly relates to biases of definition (Middle Paleolithic industries classified on the basis of technology, Upper Paleolithic ones classified on the basis of typology) or of perspective (there isn’t much stylistic patterning in the stone tool assemblages of Late Pleistocene Sahul; Habgood and Franklin 2008). The temporal coincidence of the emergence of formal burial and symbolic material culture would therefore seem to have been rather more than “broad” and, so far, the only place in which we witness their early coalescence is western Eurasia – i.e., the world of the Neandertals, not early anatomically moderns. The implications of this pattern are profound. Firstly, because, with the updates suggested above, it is fully consistent with Gilman’s model. Secondly, because it conclusively refutes the late 20th-century orthodox view of “behavioral modernity” as a species-specific attribute of Homo sapiens

(defined as the byproduct of a speciation event that occurred somewhere in Africa no more than 200,000 years ago). It is therefore entirely to be expected that the evidence would not go unchallenged, and, given that art had become the skeptics’ litmus test, that most resistance would be directed against the notion that Neandertals had been the first cave artists (Aubert, Brumm and Huntley 2018; Pearce and Bonneau 2018; Slimak et al. 2018). Even though the objections so far raised against the dating work have already been responded to (Hoffmann et al. 2018c, 2018d, 2019), it is worth going back to them from an epistemological perspective: Were such criticisms justified and supported by robust empirical arguments and, if not, what do they reveal about the scientific process and the construction of scientific knowledge, at least with regards to Paleoanthropology? These questions are my focus here. Before addressing them, however, we need to briefly review the arguments presented by the critics. 6.3. ARE THE U-SERIES DATES RELIABLE MEASURES OF THE SAMPLES’ AGE? The opening salvos (Clottes 2012; Pons-Branchu et al. 2014; Sauvet et al. 2017) of the campaign against the application of U-series to the dating of cave art stretch back to the paper that opened the Pandora box (Pike et al. 2012). The basic criticism advanced by the Sauvet-led group of authors was that Pike et al.’s approach assumed closed system chemistry whereas the nature of the dated accretions rendered the assumption invalid: “In thin layers of carbonate deposits and in damp media, the uranium incorporated into the calcite during its crystallization may be partially eliminated because of its solubility in water,” and “uranium leaching causes an artificial increase of the age that may reach considerable proportions.” Consequently, “it is nearly impossible and very dangerous to base archaeological reasoning on U/Th ages of Paleolithic artworks, so long as the dates are not confirmed by an independent method, dating the carbonates in the same samples by 14C being the best means of detecting anomalies” (Sauvet et al. 2017). None of these points is valid. Closed system conditions were not assumed, they were tested and found to hold, as the dating experts in the Sauvet-led group subsequently acknowledged (Valladas et al. 2017). The standard geochronological approach to this issue is to check for correspondence between age and depth along a stratigraphically ordered series of sub-samples; if such an order cannot be verified (which is very rarely the case), the samples

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are discarded. Even though some of Pike et al.’s (2012) initial results were based on a single sample, subsequent work confirmed that (a) open-system behavior was entirely exceptional in well-preserved calcite, and (b) the minimum ages derived from single-sample measurements were corroborated by higher resolution re-sampling of the same formations, which made it possible that multiple, stratigraphically ordered sub-samples be individually dated (Hoffmann et al. 2016; Pike et al. 2017). More to the point, Hoffmann et al.’s (2018a) results for La Pasiega, Maltravieso and Ardales derive from sequences of sub-samples that not only are agedepth consistent but also satisfy all the other stringent quality criteria outlined in Hoffmann et al. (2016). It is on the back of such very robust results that the archeological implications of the dating evidence lie. In addition, the notion that radiocarbon ought to be used as a control is at odds with decades of work in the geochemistry of speleothems (Spötl and Bosch 2012). A speleothem’s carbon does not derive directly from the atmosphere

but from groundwater that percolates through soils and bedrock before dripping from the roof or wall of a cave to precipitate the calcium carbonate it is made of. Consequently, that carbonate may be depleted in the radioactive (14C) and enriched in the stable (13C and 12C) isotopes of carbon, and this in unknown and unknowable amounts and proportions. It is this Dead Carbon Fraction (DCF) problem that, in speleothem research, renders chronologically meaningless the 14C/12C ratio that, in archeological and paleontological applications, constitutes the radiocarbon dating method’s time clock. In addition, the effective limit of applicability of radiocarbon is ~45,000 years. Therefore, even if the DCF issues could be overcome, radiocarbon would still be unable to provide relevant information concerning the age of older speleothems and, by inference, of the stratigraphically associated cave art. As an illustration of how U-series might get it wrong, Sauvet et al. (2017) cite Plagnes et al.’s (2003) report on the dating of parietal art from a cave in Borneo, Lubang Jeriji Saléh (LJS).

Figure 6.2.  Red-painted speleothems. Left. Ardales. Overview of the massive stalagmitic dome in Area II-A-3; the rectangle indicates the approximate boundaries of the area illustrated in figure 6.1. Right. Nerja. The curtain (top) and zoom-ins on the sampled area before (bottom left) and after (bottom right) sampling; the U-series result for sample G12-25 implies a minimum age of 55,100 years (reproduced from Valladas et al. 2017).

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Even though U-series returned a 27,000 year age for calcite from a drapery superimposed on a hand stencil, the true age of the sample was thought to be that provided by its 14C dating, which set the calcite at only between 8000 and 10,000 years-old. As discussed by Pike et al. (2017), the friable and weathered nature of the sample used raises questions about the reliability of both results. Nonetheless, assuming, for the sake of argument, that they are reliable and DCF is not an issue, the discrepancy needs not imply that one of them must be wrong. This is because (a) radiocarbon is based on the loss of an isotope (14C) while U-series is based on the gain of an isotope (230Th), and (b) the individual micro-layers subsumed in a sample vary in individual age and in uranium concentration. Therefore, the dates returned by each method can be different and yet represent equally valid minimum ages – with the oldest being the closest to the true age of the underlying art (it should go without saying that, if something is more than 27,000 years-old, then it is also more than 8000 years-old). Pike et al.’s argument has now been vindicated by the results that Aubert et al. (2018) have since obtained for the same LJS speleothem, which they resampled targeting the dense, unweathered calcite found below the large chunk removed by Plagnes et al. The sequence of stratigraphically ordered results obtained by Aubert et al. is consistent with Plagnes et al.’s U-series result and leaves no doubt that the execution of the motif occurred prior to 37,200 years ago. The same faulty logic has led the Valladas et al. (2017) group of authors to reject the U-series date, >55,000 years-old, that they obtained for the thin layer of calcite overlying red pigment apposed on a painted stalagmitic formation from the cave site of Nerja (Spain) that is in all aspects reminiscent of Ardales’ massive dome (fig. 6.2). The result was rejected because the radiocarbon dating of the same sample yielded an age of 29,110±200 BP (SacA-34251) – which, under the assumption of 0% DCF, would make the calcite no more than about 33,000 calendar years-old. However, nothing in the data reported by Valladas et al. contradicts the notion that, in this case, the discrepancy lies in the most common cause of error in radiocarbon dating, namely, the incomplete removal of younger carbon contaminants. That this issue needs to be contemplated is due to the thinness of the sampled carbonate layer and the fact that, due to microbial activity, carbon exchange with the cave’s interior atmosphere is bound to have happened – and no more than about 2.6% of residual contamination by modern carbon suffices to bring a sample’s radiocarbon age from ~55,000 to

~29,000 years. Put another way, in light of the consistency between the single-sample and the multiple sub-sample results reported by Pike et al. (2012) and Hoffmann et al. (2016, 2017, 2018a), the problem with open-system behavior at Nerja probably resides in the radiocarbon rather than in the U-series result. It is likely, therefore, that these Nerja speleothem paintings represent a fourth instance of Iberian cave art made by Middle Paleolithic Neandertals. 6.4. WAS THE U-SERIES METHOD APPLIED IN ADEQUATE MANNER? To the same open system issues raised by Pons-Branchu et al. (2014), Slimak et al. (2018) add three arguments leading them to suspect that at least some of Hoffmann et al.’s (2018a) U-Th results might be too old: (a) a high percentage of 230Th could have been initially present in the drip water; (b) the correction for detrital contamination could have been insufficient; and (c) using the isochron method, the age obtained for La Pasiega sample PAS34, taken from a cauliflower-type formation overlying a red sign, would be in the 47,000 to 54,000 year- rather than the 65,000 year-old range. Altogether, they conclude that the results provide strong support for a minimum age of no more than 47,000 years at the three sites. Even if correct, this conclusion would not change the implication that the dated art is of Neandertal make. This is so simply because the earliest evidence for modern human presence in Europe postdates by at least 5000 years Slimak et al.’s 47,000-year time horizon (Zilhão 2013; Zilhão et al. 2015). However, as Hoffmann et al.’s (2018d) response, summarized below, conclusively showed, that time horizon has no empirical basis whatsoever. The dating to the very recent past, no more than about one thousand years ago, of samples from all three sites falsifies the notion that the drip water could have had a high 230Th content; the U-series dating equations cannot be resolved to such younger ages if non-negligible amounts of non-radiogenic 230Th are initially present. Correcting for detrital contamination is necessary because the samples always contain impurities (e.g., dust particles) that get trapped in the precipitating calcite and such detritus contains 230 Th that does not derive from the decay of the 234 U dissolved in the drip water. The extent to which such contamination may be problematic is assessed through consideration of the ratio between 230Th and 232Th, the latter being the most common (and, for all practical purposes, stable) isotope of the element. When detrital contamination is high, and the correction significantly

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Figure 6.3.  Corrected ages and (232Th/234U)A for carbonate samples associated with art (i.e., as maximum or minimum ages). The error bars denote two standard deviations. (A) Ardales. (B) Maltravieso panel GS3b. Reproduced from Hoffmann et al. (2018d: fig. 2).

changes the age, the results are rejected; when detrital contamination is low, and the correction does not significantly impact the calculated age, the results are retained. Hoffmann et al. (2018a) assumed the bulk earth value for the 230Th/232Th ratio (or, in the specific case of Maltravieso, calculated one using sediment samples from the cave itself), corrected the results accordingly, and obtained ages that barely change even if significantly higher, unrealistic correction factors are used (fig. 6.3). Detrital contamination is therefore not an issue here. With regards to sample PAS34, Hoffmann et al. (2018d) demonstrated that Slimak et al.’s younger age was based on a mathematically inappropriate calculation. In addition, despite otherwise shown by the sequence of stratigraphically ordered results (from top to bottom, in thousands of years ago, 51.6±1.1 for PAS34a, 54.4±1.4 for PAS34b, and 79.7±14.9 for PAS34c; 2σ errors), Slimak et al. assumed that the calcite in the three measured sub-samples of PAS34 formed over a very short period. Such an assumption might be warranted if evidence existed that, as a rule, cauliflowers form over very short-lived episodes of calcite precipitation. If so, then one would be justified in considering the range displayed by PAS34 as anomalous and a priori suspect. Slimak et al., however, provide no evidence supporting such a rule, while Pike et al. (2012) and Hoffmann et al. (2016, 2017, 2018a) contain many examples of the op-

Figure 6.4.  The dating of a triangular red sign from La Pasiega. Top. Position of the cauliflower that provided the minimum ages. Middle. Post-sampling view indicating the position of samples PAS4 (single result; Pike et al. 2012) and PAS28 (multi sub-samples; Hoffmann et al. 2016). Bottom. Age results (2σ errors).

posite. Cases in point are La Pasiega samples PAS28 (fig. 6.4) and PAS30 (fig. 6.5), which yielded stratigraphically ordered sub-sample results spanning, in thousands of years ago, the 13.4±0.1 to 22.9±0.2 and the 6.6±0.1 to 11.7±0.1 intervals, respectively (2σ errors). In fact, these critics fall way short of generalizing that cauliflowers form very rapidly and that the ages obtained for sub-samples thereof ought to be treated under an assumption of penecon-

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every date published from the caves” (Slimak et al. 2018). As so many of the dates in question come from cauliflowers, Slimak et al.’s statement is explicit endorsement of the notion that the calcite in such formations retains a stratigraphy and that such stratigraphy (a) reflects growth over an extended period, and (b) can be tested for age-depth consistency to ascertain the reliability of dating results. Taking such a stand and then posit that, in one specific case, PAS34, all sub-samples be treated as of the same age despite the significant time span covered is therefore an obvious case of the fallacy of special pleading. Slimak et al. question the age obtained for the sub-sample closer to the pigment, PAS34c, not because there is anything technically problematic with the minimum age of 64.8 ka that the date implies for the underlying art but simply because that minimum age is not to their liking. 6.5. IS THE STRATIGRAPHIC RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN ART AND SAMPLES DEMONSTRATED? While sharing Hoffmann et al.’s (2016) methodological premises, Aubert, Brumm and Huntley (2018) question the early ages obtained for La Pasiega, Maltravieso and Ardales on the grounds that Hoffmann et al. (2018a) would have failed to demonstrate that the dated calcite was indeed found above the art whose age it was supposed to constrain. They do so, however, via a fundamental misrepresentation of the facts. Aubert, Brumm and Huntley’s account of Hoffmann et al.’s (2018a) modus operandi is as follows: In each case the team scraped the carbonate deposit until they considered that it was changing color […]. This was seen as indicating that they were coming close to the underlying paint of the artwork, and hence they stopped sampling at this point. The team then dated the sampled carbonate under the belief that it had formed on top of the paint layer corresponding to the nearby artwork […] Moreover, in our view, a color change is not evident from most images in the paper [my emphasis].

Figure 6.5.  The dating of a red horse from La Pasiega. Top. Position of the cauliflower that provided the minimum ages (sample PAS30). Middle. Zoom-in on the sampled area before surface cleaning. Bottom. The sampled area after the last sub-sample (PAS30g, 11,740±80 years old, 2σ error) had been removed.

The description above is fantasy. The carbonate deposit was not scraped until it changed color. The sampled carbonate deposits remained the same color, white, throughout. As they were thinned out by the scraping process, however, they became translucent and the different color – red, instead of white – of the pigment present directly underneath, not nearby, became visible. The process was photographically documented each step of the way, and the detailed imagery published by Hoffmann et al. (2016, 2017, 2018a)

temporaneity warranting the application of the isochron method. Quite the opposite: referring to Hoffmann et al. (2018a), they write that “the authors deserve credit for devising and applying the sequential sampling technique that tests for preservation of stratigraphic order in essentially

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Figure 6.6.  The stratigraphic relation between the dated Iberian cave art and the cauliflowers used to date it. Top. Scenario A is Aubert et al.’s (2018a) hypothesis, which implies interpreting the results as maximum ages. Bottom. Scenario B is the real thing; the results are minimum ages.

leaves no doubt that the published results concern samples of white calcite that lay on top of artwork made with a red pigment applied on a white, yellow or grey limestone wall (or on an earlier layer of white flowstone). Aubert, Brumm and Huntley also worried that the ages provided by the cauliflower samples could in fact be maxima rather than minima. Their concern stemmed from experience with similar carbonate formations found in Borneo caves, in which they were able to observe instances where no pigment existed under cauliflowers whose base was surrounded by painting. In such cases – scenario A of fig. 6.6 – the explanation resides in that the cauliflower was already present when the painting was made but run-off along the cave wall subsequently washed away the pigment that once covered the protuberating calcite accretion. However, in all the cases of cauliflower dating reported by Pike et al. (2012) and Hoffmann et al. (2016, 2017, 2018a), pigment was observed under the calcite as the sub-sampling proceeded from the formation’s external skin to its base, eventually leaving a layer thin enough for the underlying pigment to been seen through. These cases, in-

cluding the critical PAS34 sample (fig. 6.7), conform to scenario B of fig. 6.6; the dating results obtained for the carbonate therefore represent minimum ages indeed. To circumvent the potential ambiguity of pigment/cauliflower associations, Aubert, Brumm and Huntley advocate a sampling procedure that is destructive of the art itself: coring through the overlying calcite and the art motif down to the underlying canvas and then do the U-series dating on sub-samples of the extracted core located above and below the pigment layer. As argued by Pike et al. (2012) and Hoffmann et al. (2016, 2017, 2018a), such destruction is unnecessary and can be avoided using the alternative protocol successfully applied by these authors to some 250 panels from 26 different cave sites. In addition, note that, in order to be able to follow Aubert, Brumm and Huntley’s modus operandi one would still need to be able to distinguish between the white color of the calcite and the red, black, orange or yellow color of the interstratified pigments the art had been made with; but recall that, to those authors, the change from white to red seen in figs. 6.4-6.5 and 6.7 is not evident …

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Figure 6.7.  The dating of La Pasiega’s scalariform sign. Top left. Position of the cauliflower that provided the minimum ages (sample PAS34). Top right. The cauliflower prior to sampling. Bottom. Zoom-in on the sampled area after the last sub-sample — PAS34c, 79,660±14,900 years old, 2σ error — had been removed (original photo and D-stretch enhancement).

Even though they claim the high ground, Aubert, Brumm and Huntley’s reporting actually is rather sub-standard when it comes to documenting their samples’ stratigraphic associations. For instance, they claim to have dated the world’s earliest figurative art (an undetermined animal from the LJS cave in Borneo), and there is no question that the calcite core they extracted contains a clearly visible pigment layer under calcite dated to 40,000 years ago. But does the pigment whose age is so constrained belong indeed to the figure that the sample was intended to date? The imagery provided – a long shot of the painted panel, a tracing of same, and a zoom-in on the tracing indicating the position of the relevant samples, LJS1 and LJS1A (Aubert et al. 2018: fig. 2) – fails to make that case. The pigment in the cored-through area is an isolated patch found half-way between a hand stencil and the animal painting it is assigned to, and mineralogical analysis was unable to differentiate the pigments used to make the two motifs. Based on this evidence, can we exclude that the dated pigment patch relates not to the animal but to the hand stencil, or to a third undetermined, and possibly non-figurative motif?

Aubert et al.’s answer is that “the pigment associated with samples LJS1 and LJS1A is of the same reddish orange-colored hue as other parts of the figurative animal painting in question, and the pigment layer we have dated appears to have been applied with a brush or finger rather than sprayed or projected from the mouth.” How the technique of application can be inferred from the two-dimensional observation of a ca.0.05 mm-thick line of pigment is, however, left unexplained. In fact, the identification relies entirely on the naked-eye evaluation of the hues, i.e., the perceived difference between the stencil’s mulberry and the animal’s orange. So, ultimately, the argument relies on the confidence one can have on the hue-discrimination abilities of the authors – the same who, in the case of the Iberian caves, find it difficult to appreciate the difference between white and red, even on the printed page. In any case, even if we accept that valid grounds exist to reject the hypothesis that the pigment in LJS1 and LJS1A relates to the stencil, the fact remains that several other motifs in the dated panel feature the same orange hue as the animal. Therefore, rejecting the stencil hypothesis 95

does not necessarily reject that the dated patch belonged to a motif other than the animal to the right of the stencil. Aubert, Brumm and Huntley’s (2018) criticisms are based on the creation of a straw man and devoid of empirical basis. They only serve to illustrate the pervasive double standards affecting all Transition-related research. Naked-eye assignment of hue suffices to put a time stamp on the “behavioral modernity” of the anatomically modern humans presumed to be the makers of the Borneo cave art, even when done by researchers with self-acknowledged color-recognition handicaps… but does not suffice to prove the stratigraphic position of the art relative to the calcite whose dating implies Neandertal authorship, even when accompanied by detailed graphic demonstration of said position. Can one reasonably accept that a stratigraphic relationship observed, recorded and unanimously agreed upon by the several generations of rock art researchers who have meticulously examined and discussed the Iberian sites be questioned in total cavalier fashion, remotely, with no direct examination of the evidence?

sents, yet again, a manifestation of the impact of the logical issues of double standards and special pleading. Why is the anthropogenic nature of the pigment underpinning the interpretation of these paintings as speleothem-marking behavior questioned at Ardales but not at Nerja or at the other sites in which the same behavior has been noted? Because, at Ardales, the dating proves that the artistic activity relates to Neandertals while, elsewhere, it has so far been assumed to be a modern human thing? The second point is that Aubert, Brumm and Huntley’s remarks consist entirely of generalities with no specific reference to the context and properties of the concrete marks in question. Ultimately, their point is that, much like fossils prior to the 17th century, these marks could have been lusus naturae that fooled the generations of rock art experts who have examined the evidence… but not them, who are well aware of “Nature the trickster” and can spot its jokes even from as far away as their antipodal offices. Remarkable! Aubert, Brumm and Huntley’s wondrous hubris apart, the point of the matter is that the anthropogenic nature of the Ardales marks is unquestionable. The pigment is found as a layer of defined thickness atop the underlying calcite and separated from it by a discrete and distinct boundary, not as diffuse staining of the calcite itself. Reddening caused by the presence of iron minerals in the drip water leads to the formation of speleothems that become stained all through their fabric, not to the apposition of homogeneous masses of pigmentatious material over their external surfaces. In theory, mechanical processes – e.g., flooding by waters containing large amounts of iron minerals in suspension – might be able to explain the presence of such masses, but not the fact that they are only found on speleothems and within human reach, never on the ground floor or elsewhere in the naked cave walls. In addition, the best-preserved patches display a splatter pattern that is fully consistent with mouth- or airbrush-blowing as experimentally replicated (D’Errico et al. 2016). Indeed, only the intentional application of pigment using such a technique can explain the location of many of the marks deep inside the speleothems’ folds, in places that in some cases are beyond arm’s length – which suffices to exclude accidental rubbing as an explanation for their origin.

6.6. IS THE DATED PIGMENT ANTHROPOGENIC, AND THE PAINTING INTENTIONAL? Slimak et al. (2018) and Aubert, Brumm and Huntley (2018) also raise the issue of whether the Ardales paintings are intentional, or even anthropogenic. One side of this objection is that the pigment marks could have been produced accidentally, e.g., through contact between cave wall and painted clothing, if not painted human skin. The other side of the objection is that the pigment could well represent natural staining of the cave walls. The first point one needs to make in this regard is that speleothem painting is by no means an exceptional cave art motif. It is certainly not exclusive to Ardales, as illustrated by the nearby site of Nerja discussed above, as well as by, among others, El Castillo, in Cantabrian Spain, or Les Merveilles, in France (Alcalde del Rio, Breuil and Sierra 1912; Lorblanchet 2010). This is common knowledge, and not only among the community of cave art researchers but also, as some of these sites remain open to visitors, among the general public. Examples have been reproduced and discussed in scholarly articles and site monographs and, for decades, their self-evident anthropogenic nature never posed a problem … until its makers, or at least the makers of some, were found to be Neandertal instead of anatomically modern. This may well have happened just by coincidence – albeit, to paraphrase Mellars (2005), an extraordinary one –, but more likely repre-

6.7. IS THE DATED ART TRULY “ART?” Slimak et al. (2018) concede that, if indeed anthropogenic, the Ardales motifs might indicate that “some late Neanderthal societies may well have produced some parietal traces.” The choice of expression – ‘parietal traces’ instead of ‘rock

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art’ – is not incidental. It chimes in with the notion that the behavior involved is not really art, as opposed to La Pasiega’s geometric sign and Maltravieso’s hand stencil. While considering the latter to be “the only true parietal expressions of graphic categories that have direct comparisons with classic Upper Paleolithic parietal expressions,” Slimak et al. question their dating to Neandertal times. The concept here, therefore, is that, even though, in Ardales as much as at Bruniquel, Neandertals may have done “stuff” deep inside caves, none of it can be truly considered “art.” Slimak et al. are right that hand stencils and the kinds of geometric signs dated at La Pasiega are fully within the realm of Paleolithic cave art; but they are not “classic Upper Paleolithic parietal expressions.” A century of research, from the Abbé Breuil to A. Leroi-Gourhan, reckoned that “rare spots, lines of disks in series, and sometimes timid attempts at line drawing” lay at the base of all parietal stratigraphies known (Breuil 1952: 38). The truly “classic Upper Paleolithic parietal expressions” are the primarily animalistic representations that can be dated by comparison with mobiliary art found in stratified archeological contexts containing diagnostic Upper Paleolithic stone tool assemblages. For Leroi-Gourhan (1964), such expressions had been preceded by a “pre-figurative” phase that antedated the Aurignacian. With regards to hand stencils, while Leroi-Gourhan considered their dating ambiguous and, hence, excluded them from his fourstage scheme of how modes of animal representa-

tion and types of signs had changed across the Upper Paleolithic sequence, Breuil placed them firmly within his earlier phase, in association with lines, spots and disks. At El Castillo’s Panel of Hands, hand stencils and red disks are found together but not superimposed, while the painted lines defining the panel’s “classic Upper Paleolithic parietal expressions” (namely, the yellow bison depicted in a style that Leroi-Gourhan would have deemed “archaic”) are always found on top of either the stencils or the disks (Pike et al. 2012; GarcíaDiez et al. 2015; Pettitt et al. 2015; D’Errico et al. 2016) (fig. 6.8). There is not a single instance of this superimposition pattern being reversed, and Pike et al.’s (2012) U-series dating of the panel’s carbonates fully corroborated the observed parietal stratigraphy by showing that a red disk had been made prior to 40,800 years ago and a hand stencil prior to 37,300 years ago. These minimum ages demonstrated that such kinds of motifs were being painted in Cantabrian caves well before the time to which animal representations have been securely dated anywhere in Europe, either directly by radiocarbon or indirectly by stratigraphic position in an archeological sequence. It is true that a few hand stencils have been dated by radiocarbon to the Gravettian. But that does not mean that hand stencils are “classic Upper Paleolithic parietal expressions,” nor can that be taken to exclude that the practice had begun much earlier, as indeed demonstrated by the results for La Pasiega and Maltravieso; such Gravettian exam-

Figure 6.8.  The Panel of Hands at El Castillo. Left. Partial overview. Right. Detail and zoom-in on same, illustrating a yellow bison in archaic style superimposed on a red hand stencil.

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ples simply mean that, in Europe, the practice of making hand stencils persisted through the earlier part of the Upper Paleolithic. A more radical version of the argument that the types of cave paintings dated to the Neandertal time range are categorically and fundamentally distinct from true “art” is that “using colors to make a mark with your hand or painting your body in red ocher is not like painting a Renaissance picture of the Quattrocento” (Hublin, cited in Lidz 2019). Recall that Hublin’s reaction to Pike et al. (2012) was that all he would need to be convinced was “a pattern of art or other sophisticated symbolic expression” (see above). The moving of goal posts apart, that a difference exists between the Neandertal paintings and those of the Quattrocento is undeniable. However, it is no less undeniable that Quattrocento paintings are also different from those of Ancient Egypt, or from those of 20th-century abstractionists. In fact, there is a good reason for Quattrocento art to be called so. It was made in the 1400’s of the Christian Era, not before or after, which puts the Neandertal painters of speleothems, stencils and signs on a par with the overwhelming majority of anatomically modern humans who have ever lived – presumably the opposite of the point Hublin’s remark was intended to press on the reader. Hublin’s idea would seem to be that only “modern humans” are capable of something like the Quattrocento paintings. This not only begs the question of why most such modern humans never produced any such paintings but also leads one to suspect the underlying assumption to be that such a capability is something of an “immanent” property, exclusive to the modern human brain and in which it resided for some 200,000 years ... in wait for the right moment to manifest itself. In fact, being capable of the making of a Quattrocento painting depends primarily on the ontogenetic acquisition of the required skills, over many years of hard work and learning, and in the appropriate cultural context. My prediction is that, placed in front of a blank canvas with all the necessary tools and pigments, not even the most artistically gifted of anatomically modern humans will produce anything like a Quattrocento painting if he has not seen one before, has no familiarity with the people, the landscapes and the ideas that such paintings refer to, and has not been taught how to make proper use of the materials made available to him. This is a proposition that can be empirically tested, and, should someone proceed to do so, I for one will certainly be looking forward to the outcome. What lies at the heart of the issue at stake here is what we mean by ‘art.’ The current meaning, as defined in e.g. Google’s dictionary, is “the expression or application of human creative skill

and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.” It shouldn’t be necessary to stress that this definition is useless and inapplicable for the study of the Paleolithic past, a field in which ‘art’ is more productively treated as a form of transmitting encoded information (e.g. Barton, Clark and Cohen 1994). In evolutionary perspective, and when dealing with what art reveals in terms of the human brain’s cognitive capabilities, the specific form under which the information is stored – figurative, schematic, abstract, etc. – is not relevant. What is relevant is the fact that information is being encoded and decoded, revealing the possession of the capability for thinking and communicating with symbols that underpins language and all human culture as we know it. And, to demonstrate that possession, you do not need Quattrocento paintings; geometric signs are good enough. It would hardly occur to anyone to suggest that the combination of simple lines used to produce the graphic sign that combines a ‘c,’ an ‘a’ and a ‘t’ is somehow cognitively less complex than the most realistic portrait of the animal represented by ‘cat.’ To anyone, that is, outside the strange world of Neandertal/modern human debates … 6.8. CONCLUSION: PALEOANTHROPOLOGY AS SCIENCE AND AS IDEOLOGY Gilman’s (1984) essay was explicitly Marxist. A major aspect of this approach (but one that is not exclusive to it; cf. Kuhn 1970) is the emphasis on the need to understand the production of knowledge, including scientific knowledge, in its cultural and social context. In short, awareness that “it is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence but their social existence that determines their consciousness” (Marx 1859) is a prerequisite to understand, expose and overcome ideology (in this theoretical context, meaning false knowledge). Paleoanthropology is a form of enquiry whose origins lie in the western European societies of the 19th century. As such, it is almost inevitable that the ever more numerous nuggets of true knowledge that the discipline has been able to produce through observation, practice, and reflection would have come embedded in a gangue of beliefs derived from the cultural, social, and philosophical background within which Paleoanthropology was incubated and that the institutions that frame it professionally and academically, conservative as all institutions are, have taken upon themselves to perpetuate. Examples are plenty. For instance, it does not take extreme powers of insight to realize that the

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designation – the Mitochondrial Eve hypothesis – of the genetic component of the ROA model of modern human origins is entirely appropriate. It chimes in perfectly with the model’s biblical overtones: a small group of humans (the Chosen People) inhabiting a privileged corner of the world (the Promised Land) eventually taking it all for themselves upon acquiring language and advanced cognition (the Revelation) thanks to some sort of genetic mutation (the Hand of God). Likewise, let us take a moment to read again the official definition of Homo neanderthalensis (King 1864):

can find for the resistance expressed in some academic quarters to the Neandertal-age dates obtained by Hoffmann et al. (2018a) for the beginning of western Europe’s cave art, with attendant implications for the Transition as a Middle Paleolithic Revolution. How else can one explain that all expressions of such resistance represent textbook examples of logical error? Among these, the most pervasive and transparently fallacious are: (a) double standards, for instance, Neandertals are denied burial, but archeologically similar modern human manifestations are accepted as such, no questions asked, or, naked-eye distinction of related hues suffices to support claims for oldest figurative art in Borneo, but naked-eye distinction between red and white is insufficient to demonstrate the stratigraphic relationship between the Neandertal-age calcite and the art for which it provides a minimum age; (b) special pleading, for instance, sequential sub-sampling of cauliflowers is a valid way of assessing agedepth consistency, but when the basal sub-sample implies a Neandertal age for the underlying art, then the calcite in that particular cauliflower must be taken as formed in one go, with no internal stratigraphy; (c) moving goal posts, for instance, symbolic material culture, e.g., personal ornaments and simple geometric-linear motifs suffice to demonstrate cognitive modernity, as in the Blombos finds from South Africa (Henshilwood et al. 2018), but when the same is found among Neandertals the requirement becomes Quattrocento painting. Ultimately, the skeptics’ questioning derives from the need to reconcile the empirical evidence with an overarching worldview generated via yet another fallacy, that of affirming the consequent. Their reasoning can be summedup as follows: ‘It is well-established that Neandertals were anatomically non-modern and, hence, cognitively non-modern too; therefore, dates that imply Neandertal authorship for cave art must be wrong; removing such dates from consideration, as they one should do, the chronological evidence shows that art begins with the Upper Paleolithic and is modern human-associated; therefore, Neandertals never did any art, and, if they didn’t, it can only be because they were devoid of the capability; consequently, we can conclude that they were cognitively non-modern.’ This style of reasoning applied to archeology and human evolution issues is hardly new. For instance, one can easily see how these Neandertal arguments are but a present-day equivalent of the “Mound Builder” frame of mind that led many early North American students of the past to argue that Cahokia and similar monuments could only have been built by a superior race of Old-World immigrants: the continent’s indigenous people were too primitive and obviously

The distinctive faculties of Man are visibly expressed in his elevated cranial dome, a feature which, though much debased in certain savage races, essentially characterizes the human species. But, considering that the Neanderthal skull is eminently simial, both in its general and particular characters, I feel myself constrained to believe that the thoughts and desires which once dwelt within it never soared beyond those of a brute. The Andamaner, it is indisputable, possesses but the dimmest conceptions of the existence of the Creator of the Universe: his ideas on this subject, and on his own moral obligations, place him very little above animals of marked sagacity; nevertheless, viewed in connection with the strictly human conformation of his cranium, they are such as to specifically identify him with Homo sapiens. Psychical endowments of a lower grade than those characterizing the Andamaner cannot be conceived to exist: they stand next to brute benightedness. […] Applying the above argument to the Neanderthal skull, and considering… that it more closely conforms to the brain-case of the Chimpanzee, … there seems no reason to believe otherwise than that similar darkness characterized the being to which the fossil belonged.

Clearly, recent notions of the Neandertals’ fundamental otherness closely follow the original and, like it, are deeply rooted in several undisputed flaws of 19th-century natural science: mistaken confusion of evolution with progress (i.e., that “fossil” of necessity implies “less evolved” or “primitive”); teleology, epitomized by Haeckel’s “Tree of Life,” in which humans were an Aristotelian final cause sitting at the top of the progressively more complex series of organisms generated by the evolutionary process; phrenology, or the notion that the shape of a brain case can be interpreted in terms of the psychological attributes and intelligence of the individual it belonged to; and racism, or the notion that a correlation exists between facial morphology and other physical features of a human being, on one hand, and its capability to master advanced knowledge and be a civilized person, on the other. The enduring power of such obsolete notions and the extent to which they have ballasted Paleoanthropology is the only explanation I

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lacked the capability … Replace a few words, and the argument you get is that ‘cave art must be a modern human-only thing because Neandertals obviously lacked the corresponding capability;’ or, as Slimak et al. (2018) fall short of explicitly stating but transparently intimate ‘if the dates hold, what they might be telling us then is that modern humans were in Europe at the time, well before it has hitherto been contemplated.’ The impact of such epistemological issues on all things Neandertal is well apparent in Trinkaus and Shipman’s (1994) review of the intellectual history of 19th- and 20th-century human evolution controversies. To that impact we need to add the consequences of the industrial-scale division of labor that, with all its benefits but also with all its defects, came to characterize the production of scientific knowledge. Combined, these factors may well explain why so many excellent paleo-

anthropologists end up falling into the acritical reproduction of received wisdom and obsolete narrative as soon as they step out of their own narrow field of specialization to indulge in generalizations about Neandertals and “modernity.” Not so in the case of Antonio Gilman, the expert in the Bronze Age Archeology of Iberia who cracked the origins of the Upper Paleolithic for the benefit of the rest of us. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This paper is a contribution to project ARQEVO (Archeology and Evolution of Early Humans in the Western Façade of Iberia; PTDC/HARARQ/30413/2017), funded by FCT (Fundação para a Ciência e a Tecnologia, Portugal).

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Maureille, B.; Holliday, T.; Royerd, A.; Pelletier, M.; Couture-Veschambrea, Ch.; Discamps, E.;... and Turq, A. (2016): “New Data on the Possible Neandertal Burial at Régourdou (Montignac-sur-Vézère, Dordogne, France)”, in M. Lauwers and A. Zemour (eds.), Qu’est-ce qu’une sépulture? Humanités et systèmes funéraires de la Préhistoire à nos jours, XXXVIèmes rencontres Internationales d’Archéologie et d’Histoire d’Antibes. APDCA, Antibes: 175–91. ;

Mellars, P. A. (1973): “The Character of the Middle-Upper Paleolithic Transition in SouthWest France”, in C. Renfrew (ed.), The Explanation of Cultural Change. Models in Prehistory. Duckworth, London: 255–76. — (1989): “Major Issues in the Emergence of Modern Humans”, Current Anthropology, 30/3: 349–85. — (2005): “The Impossible Coincidence. A Single-Species Model for the Origins of Modern Human Behavior in Europe”, Evolutionary Anthropology, 14:12–27. Pearce, D. G., and Bonneau, A. (2018): “Trouble on the Dating Scene”, Nature Ecology & Evolution, 2: 925–6. Available at: https://doi. org/10.1038/s41559-018-0540-4. Pelletier, M.; Royer, A., Holliday, T. W.; Discamps, E.; Madelaine, S., and Maureille, B. (2017): “Rabbits in the Grave! Consequences of Bioturbation on the Neandertal ‘Burial’ at Regourdou (Montignac-sur-Vézère, Dordogne)”, Journal of Human Evolution, 110: 1–17. Peresani, M.; Fioreb, I.; Galab, M.; Romandi­ nia, M., and Tagliacozzo, A. (2011): “Late Neandertals and the Intentional Removal of Feathers as Evidenced from Bird Bone Taphonomy at Fumane Cave 44 Ky B.P., Italy”, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences USA, 108/10: 3888–93. Pettitt, P.; Arias, P.; García-Diez, M.; Hoffmann, D.; Castillejo, A. M.; Ontañon-Peredo, R.;... and Zilhão, J. (2015): “Are Hand Stencils in European Cave Art Older Than We Think? An Evaluation of the Existing Data and Their Potential Implications”, in P. Bueno-Ramírez and P. Bahn (eds.), Prehistoric Art as Prehistoric Culture. Studies in Honour of Professor Rodrigo de Balbín-Behrmann. Archeopress, Oxford: 31–43.

Pike, A. W. G.; Hoffmann, D. L.; García-Diez, M.; Pettitt, P. B.; Alcolea, J.; Balbín, R. de;... and Zilhão, J. (2012): “U-Series Dating of Paleolithic Art in 11 Caves in Spain”, Science, 336: 1409–13. Pike, A. W. G.; Hoffmann, D. J.; Pettitt, P. B.; García-Diez, M., and Zilhão, J. (2017): “Dating Palaeolithic Cave Art: Why U-Th Is the Way to Go”, Quaternary International, 432: 41–9. Plagnes, V.; Causse, Ch.; Fontugne, M.; Valladas, H.; Chazine, J.-M., and Fage, L.-H. (2003): “Cross Dating (Th/U-14C) of Calcite Covering Prehistoric Paintings in Borneo”, Quaternary Research, 60/2: 172–9. Pons-Branchu, E. et al. (2014): “Uranium-Series Dating of Carbonate Formations Overlying Palaeolithic Art; Interest and Limitations”, Bulletin de la Société Préhistorique Française, 111/2: 211–24. Posth, C.; Wissing, Ch.; Kitagawa, K.; Pagani, L.; Van Holstein, L.; Racimo, F.;... and Krause, J. (2017): “Deeply Divergent Archaic Mitochondrial Genome Provides Lower Time Boundary for African Gene Flow into Neanderthals”, Nature Communications, 8: 16046. Available at: https://www.nature.com/articles/ncomms16046. Radovčić, D.; Oros Sršen, A.; Radovčić, J., and Frayer, D. W. (2015): “Evidence for Neandertal Jewelry: Modified White-Tailed Eagle Claws at Krapina”, PLoS ONE, 10/3: e0119802. Available at: https://journals.plos.org/plosone/ article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0119802. Rendu, W. Beauval, C.; Crevecoeur, I.; Bayle, P.; Balzeau, A.; Bismuth, T.;... and Maureille, B. (2014): “Evidence Supporting an Intentional Neandertal Burial at La Chapelle-aux-Saints”, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences USA, 111/1: 81–6. — (2016): “Let the Dead Speak … Comments on Dibble et al.’s Reply to ’Evidence Supporting an Intentional Burial at La Chapelle-aux-Saints’”, Journal of Archaeological Science, 69: 12–20. Rouzaud, F. (1978): La Paléospéléologie: l’homme et le milieu souterrain pyrénéen au Paléolithique supérieur. École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, Toulouse. Sauvet, G.; Bourrillon, R.; Conkey, M.; Fritz, C.; Gárate-Maidagan, D.; Rivero Vilá, O.;... and White, R. (2017): “Uranium-Thorium Dating Method and Palaeolithic Rock Art”, Quaternary International, 432: 86–92.

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Slimak, L.; Fietzke, J.; Geneste, J.-M., and Ontañón, R. (2018): “Comment on ‘U-Th Dating of Carbonate Crusts Reveals Neandertal Origin of Iberian Cave Art’”, Science, 361: eaau1371. Available at: https://science.sciencemag.org/ content/sci/361/6408/eaau1371.full.pdf. Spötl, Ch., and Boch, R. (2012): “Uranium Series Dating of Speleothems”, in W. White and D. Culver (eds.), Encyclopedia of Caves. 2nd edition. Elsevier/Academic Press, Waltham, MA: 838–44. Stringer, C., and Andrews, P. (1988): “Genetics and the Fossil Evidence for the Origin of Modern Humans”, Science, 239: 1263–8. Trinkaus, E. (2007): “European Early Modern Humans and the Fate of the Neandertals”, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences USA, 104/18: 7367–72. Trinkaus, E., and Shipman, P. (1994): The Neandertals: Of Skeletons, Scientists, and Scandal. Vintage, New York. Valladas, H.; Pons-Branchu, E.; Dumoulin, J. P.; Quiles, A.; Sanchidrián, J. L., and Medina-Alcaide, M. A. (2017): “U/Th and 14C Crossdating of Parietal Calcite Deposits: Application to Nerja Cave (Andalusia, Spain) and Future Perspectives”, Radiocarbon, 59/6: 1955–67. White, R. (1982): “Rethinking the Middle/Upper Paleolithic Transition”, Current Anthropology, 23/2: 169–92. Zilhão, J. (2001): Anatomically Archaic, Behaviourally Modern: The Last Neanderthals and Their Destiny. Stichting Nederlands Museum voor Anthropologie en Praehistoriae, Amsterdam.

— (2007): “The Emergence of Ornaments and Art: An Archaeological Perspective on the Origins of Behavioural ‘Modernity’ of behavioural ‘modernity’”, Journal of Archaeological Research, 15: 1–54. — (2013): “Neandertal-Modern Human Contact in Western Eurasia: Issues of Dating, Taxonomy, and Cultural Associations”, in T. Akazawa T., Y. Nishiaki and K. Aoki (eds.), Dynamics of Learning in Neanderthals and Modern Humans. Volume 1: Cultural Perspectives. Springer, Tokyo: 21–57. — (2015): “Lower and Middle Palaeolithic Mortuary Behaviours and the Origins of Ritual Burial”, in C. Renfrew, M. J. Boyd and I. Morley (eds.), Death Rituals, Social Order and the Archaeology of Immortality in the Ancient World: ‘Death Shall Have No Dominion’. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge: 27–44. Zilhão, J.; Angelucci, D. E.; Badal-García, E.; D’Errico, F.; Daniel, F.; Dayet, L.;... and Zapata, J. (2010): “Symbolic Use of Marine Shells and Mineral Pigments by Iberian Neandertals”, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences USA, 107/3: 1023–8. Zilhão, J.; Banks, W. E.; D’Errico, F., and Gioia, P. (2015): “Analysis of Site Formation and Assemblage Integrity Does Not Support Attribution of the Uluzzian to Modern Humans at Grotta del Cavallo”, PLoS ONE, 10: e0131181. Available at: http://dx.doi.org/10.1371/ journal.pone.0131181. Zilhão, J.; D’Errico, F.; Julien, M., and David, F. (2011): “Chronology of the Site of Grotte Du Renne, Arcy-Sur-Cure, France: Implications for Radiocarbon Dating”, Before Farming, 2011/3: art. 3.

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VII. EXPLORANDO LOS SESGOS EN LAS CRONOLOGÍAS RADIOCARBÓNICAS. LA TRANSICIÓN MESOLÍTICO-NEOLÍTICO A LA LUZ DE LA BASE DE DATOS DE RADIOCARBONO DE LA PREHISTORIA RECIENTE IBÉRICA DE ANTONIO GILMAN Juan M. Vicent García / Antonio Uriarte González / Carlos Fernández Freire / Pedro Díaz-del-Río Español

Resumen Entre las aportaciones del Prof. Antonio Gilman a la arqueología prehistórica, está la Base de Datos de Radiocarbono de la Prehistoria Reciente Ibérica (IDEArq-C14), fruto de su trabajo de recopilación crítica sistemática de dataciones radiocarbónicas de la Península Ibérica. Reúne más de 10 000, pertenecientes a más de 2000 yacimientos, con cronologías entre el Mesolítico y la Edad del Hierro. Esta información es accesible actualmente vía Internet, de acuerdo con un enfoque de datos abiertos, en la plataforma IDEArq, una infraestructura de datos espaciales para la publicación en línea de repertorios de datos arqueológicos georreferenciados, gestionada desde el Instituto de Historia del CSIC. En este trabajo, se presenta este conjunto de datos y se propone su aplicación a la evaluación de los sesgos debidos a las variaciones regionales en la intensidad de la investigación, un problema puesto de manifiesto en recientes debates interpretativos. Esta aplicación se ejemplifica con la discusión del problema de la posible existencia de «vacíos poblacionales» durante la transición Mesolítico-Neolítico, una cuestión clave en los debates sobre el proceso de neolitización de Iberia. Mediante el análisis de la distribución espacial y cronológica de las dataciones, se evalúa la posibilidad de que estos «vacíos» se deban a sesgos regionales en la investigación. Palabras clave: radiocarbono, Península Ibérica, Infraestructuras de Datos Espaciales, Mesolítico, Neolítico. Abstract One of the contributions of Antonio Gilman to Prehistoric Archaeology is the Iberian Late

Prehistory Radiocarbon Database (IDEArq-C14), a result of a systematic critical collection of archaeological radiocarbon dates in Iberia. It gathers over 10,000 dates from more than 2000 archaeological sites, mainly of Mesolithic to Iron Age chronologies. Nowadays, this information is freely accessible via the Internet, in accordance with an open data paradigm, through the IDEArq platform, a spatial data infrastructure for the online publication of repertories of georeferenced archaeological information, hosted by the Spanish National Research Council (CSIC). In this paper, we present the dataset and propose its use in the evaluation of biases produced by regional variations in research intensity, a problem brought out in recent interpretative debates. This application is illustrated by the discussion of the issue of potential “demographic holes” during the Mesolithic-Neolithic transition, a crucial question in the debates about the neolithisation process in Iberia. By analysing the spatial and chronological distribution of radiocarbon dates, we evaluate the likelihood that these vacuums are due to regional research biases. Keywords: radiocarbon, Iberia, Spatial Data Infrastructures, Mesolithic, Neolithic 7.1. INTRODUCCIÓN Una de las contribuciones de Antonio Gilman a la arqueología prehistórica, menos conocida que su labor como investigador, ha sido su continuado trabajo de recopilación sistemática y crítica de los datos cronométricos de la prehistoria reciente de la Península Ibérica dispo-

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nibles en la literatura científica (ver Uriarte et al. 2017). Este trabajo se inició en 1982 y ha proseguido hasta la actualidad, dando lugar a un extenso repertorio de dataciones críticamente contextualizadas que recoge, posiblemente, la mayor parte de los datos existentes. A partir de 2004, el propio Gilman, al frente de un equipo formado por personal del Instituto de Historia del CSIC, acometió la transformación de este repertorio en una base de datos electrónica, con la idea de hacerla accesible a toda la comunidad científica. Este empeño culminó en 2016 con la presentación pública de la primera versión de la Base de Datos de Radiocarbono de la Prehistoria Reciente Ibérica, alojada en IDEArq, una plataforma de acceso en línea a conjuntos de datos arqueológicos creada a partir de la colaboración de investigadores y técnicos del Instituto de Historia y la Unidad de Sistemas de Información Geográfica (uSIG) del Centro de Ciencias Humanas y Sociales del CSIC (Bosque y Vicent 2016). Por esta razón nos referiremos a la Base de Datos de Radiocarbono de la Prehistoria Reciente Ibérica con el acrónimo IDEArq-C14, que es el nombre que recibe el correspondiente conjunto de datos en dicha plataforma. En este trabajo presentamos la versión actual de esta base de datos, las características más destacadas del sistema que la hace accesible y algunas de sus implicaciones en relación con el desarrollo de la investigación, particularmente las posibilidades que ofrece en relación con el estudio de los sesgos derivados de factores históricos en el proceso de producción de conocimiento arqueológico. Exploraremos este tema mediante un ejemplo en la segunda parte de este trabajo. 7.2. LA BASE DE DATOS DE RADIOCARBONO DE LA PREHISTORIA RECIENTE IBÉRICA

7.2.1. Contenido El trabajo individual de Gilman constituye el núcleo fundamental de la base de datos. El carácter bibliográfico del trabajo circunscribe la representatividad de la masa de los datos a lo que podemos llamar la imagen científica del registro cronométrico, es decir, aquellos datos que son accesibles a partir del corpus bibliográfico «normal» (en el sentido de Kuhn 1979) de la disciplina arqueológica (monografías y revistas científicas). El ámbito geográfico de la recopilación incluye la Península Ibérica, con los territorios correspondientes de España, Portugal y Andorra. Las dataciones incorporadas pertenecen principalmente al rango cronológico com-

prendido entre el Epipaleolítico/Mesolítico y la Edad del Hierro. No obstante, se han incluido eventualmente dataciones anteriores (Paleolítico) o posteriores (épocas romana y medieval) en el caso de yacimientos que comprenden estas fases de ocupación además de las correspondientes a la prehistoria reciente, preservando así la coherencia contextual de los datos. El trabajo de Gilman como recopilador consistió en seleccionar las referencias para cada datación cotejando las publicaciones (dando preferencia a aquellas de las que son autores los excavadores de los yacimientos), determinar la localización de los yacimientos, y extraer los datos primarios y la información contextual relevante para cada datación. No es necesario decir que la información disponible en la bibliografía es en muchas ocasiones incompleta (especialmente en los momentos iniciales de la aplicación del método en los países ibéricos) y frecuentemente existen contradicciones entre distintas referencias. Por todo ello, el trabajo de Gilman tiene un carácter crítico, lo que dota a la base de datos de un valor añadido sobre el meramente catalográfico. Hay que añadir que, en la realización de este trabajo, han desempeñado un papel importante otras recopilaciones como La base de dades radiocarbòniques de Catalunya, dirigida por Joan Barceló.1 A este núcleo fundamental se suman en la actualidad dos conjuntos de dataciones que no son el resultado directo del trabajo de Gilman, sino que han sido cedidos por los investigadores responsables de su creación: 1. La serie de dataciones inéditas (aproximadamente 300) procedentes de los archivos del extinto Laboratorio de Geocronología del Instituto de Química Física Rocasolano del CSIC, cuya consulta e incorporación ha sido posible gracias a Antonio Rubinos Pérez, responsable de dicho laboratorio hasta su cierre en 2014. 2. La base de datos de dataciones de la prehistoria reciente de las Islas Baleares, elaborada por Rafael Micó Pérez (Universidad Autónoma de Barcelona) y Cristina Rihuete Herrada (Museo de Son Fornés) y sus colaboradores. Este repertorio ha sido parcialmente publicado por Castro, Lull y Micó (1996), y actualizado desde ese momento por los autores citados. En noviembre de 2018, el Dr. Micó transfirió la base de datos al equipo editor de IDEArq-C14 para su integración en el sistema, con objeto de facilitar su acceso a la comunidad científica. Consta de casi 800 dataciones procedentes de más de 100 yacimientos, y es el resultado de la aplicación de criterios coherentes con los 1  La base de dades radiocarbòniques de Catalunya: http://www.telearchaeology.org/c14/

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que han conformado el cuerpo principal del conjunto. En conclusión, en la actualidad, la base de datos abarca todos los territorios de la Península Ibérica y las Islas Baleares. La información asociada a cada datación incluye: 1. Los datos propiamente técnicos de esta (la edad 14C junto con su desviación típica, el código de laboratorio, el método de medición, otros valores como δ13C). 2. Aspectos contextuales, relativos al material datado (tipo de muestra, tipo de material, taxonomía, contexto estratigráfico). 3. Información sobre el yacimiento arqueológico del que procede cada muestra (topónimo, breve descripción general, coordenadas cartográficas, descriptores cronológicos y funcionales, unidades administrativas). 4. Las referencias bibliográficas de las que procede la información de las dataciones y los yacimientos. La formalización y normalización de todas estas categorías de información es imprescindible para su integración en una base de datos, especialmente si el objetivo es que esta sea accesible y útil a la comunidad científica a través de Internet. Teniendo en cuenta este objetivo, se elaboró un modelo de datos compatible con el Modelo de Datos de Patrimonio Histórico (Fernández, Parcero y Uriarte 2014), como se explicará en la sección siguiente. En lo que se refiere a la forma en la que estas diferentes clases de información son presentadas, se incluyen listas normalizadas de descriptores, citas textuales, breves resúmenes descriptivos, datos alfanuméricos y referencias bibliográficas. Este trabajo de normalización y estandarización es el cometido del equipo editor que, como se ha dicho, dirige el propio Antonio Gilman. En el caso de los datos de Baleares, se ha contado además con la participación de Rafael Micó. Por el momento la información se mantiene en constante crecimiento gracias a los esfuerzos del editor principal y el equipo editorial. En el momento de la redacción de este trabajo, incluía 9058 dataciones procedentes de 1870 yacimientos arqueológicos, resultantes de la revisión de 1687 referencias bibliográficas para las primeras y 1544 para los segundos (fig. 7.1). El 3 de julio de 2019 dichas cifras ascendían a 10 152 dataciones, 2030 yacimientos y 1864 y 1620 referencias bibliográficas para unas y otros, respectivamente. Ahora bien, el número de dataciones de 14C generadas por la investigación arqueológica se incrementa en progresión geométrica, por lo que mantener la información actualizada es una tarea que rebasa las posibilidades de un único grupo de trabajo. La voluntad del equipo editorial de IDEArq-C14 es articular formas de abrir a la co-

Figura 7.1.  Distribución de los yacimientos considerados en el estudio (n = 1870).

munidad científica la cooperación en esta tarea, para lo cual se estudian actualmente diversas posibilidades de incorporar a la plataforma de acceso herramientas participativas. 7.2.2. Accesibilidad. La plataforma IDEArq Como se ha dicho, el objetivo final del trabajo es hacer accesibles los datos a través de Internet. El marco institucional del proyecto es el CSIC, y esto implica que las condiciones en las que se debe cumplir este objetivo quedan definidas por los compromisos institucionales de este organismo con los principios Open Data. En este contexto, el proyecto de publicación en línea de la Base de Datos de Radiocarbono de la Prehistoria Reciente Ibérica converge con la iniciativa IDEArq,2 que desde 2010 se desarrolla en el Instituto de Historia del CSIC, por el Grupo de Investigación Prehistoria Social y Económica (GIPSE) y el Laboratorio de Arqueología del Paisaje y Teledetección (LabTel) en colaboración con la uSIG del Centro de Ciencias Humanas y Sociales. Se trata de una Infraestructura de Datos Espaciales dedicada a la publicación online de repertorios de información arqueológica georreferenciada creados a partir de la actividad de grupos de investigación pertenecientes al Instituto de Historia del CSIC, junto con otras instituciones. IDEArq está operativa y da acceso a los distintos conjuntos de datos que alberga, entre ellos IDEArq-C14, desde que fue oficialmente presentada en el Museo Arqueológico Nacional, en Madrid, en septiembre de 2016 (Bosque y Vicent 2016), y en el Congreso 2  IDEArq. Infraestructura de Datos Espaciales de Investigación Arqueológica: http://www.idearqueologia. org/.

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Ibercrono «Cronometrías para la Historia de la Península Ibérica», celebrado en Barcelona en octubre del mismo año (Uriarte et al. 2017). IDEArq es una Infraestructura de Datos Espaciales (IDE), es decir, un sistema de información que permite la gestión de datos georreferenciados a partir de sus determinaciones espaciales. Una Infraestructura de Datos Espaciales (en inglés, Spatial Data Infrastructure, SDI) es «un sistema informático integrado por un conjunto de recursos (catálogos, servidores, programas, aplicaciones, páginas web…) que permite el acceso y la gestión de conjuntos de datos y servicios geográficos (descritos a través de sus metadatos), disponibles en Internet, que cumple una serie normas, estándares y especificaciones que regulan y garantizan la interoperabilidad de la información geográfica».3 Una IDE es la forma más eficiente de gestionar información arqueológica, porque todo dato arqueológico es intrínsecamente un geodato, es decir, carece en gran parte de utilidad científica si no se conoce su localización. IDEArq se basa en software de código abierto y, en términos generales, consiste en una estructura relacional, donde se almacena y organiza la información, y diversos interfaces que dan acceso abierto a dicha información a través de la Red. Esta «estructura relacional» permite la integración de diferentes conjuntos de datos temáticos en una sola base de datos, lo cual hace posible combinar y manejar conjuntamente o por separado las diferentes capas de información que contiene. En la actualidad, IDEArq alberga tres conjuntos de datos independientes: 1. Corpus de Pintura Rupestre Levantina (IDEArqCPRL): El CPRL es la versión electrónica del Corpus de Arte Rupestre Levantino (CARL) (CruzBerrocal et al. 2005), un inventario fotográfico de las manifestaciones rupestres postpaleolíticas de la vertiente mediterránea de la Península Ibérica, realizado por el fotógrafo Fernando Gil Carles entre 1971 y 1976, bajo la dirección de Martín Almagro Basch, en aquel momento director del Instituto Español de Prehistoria (IEP) del CSIC. Este corpus reúne documentación fotográfica y descripciones textuales de los motivos rupestres y entornos de 95 estaciones distribuidas en las comunidades autónomas de Aragón, Cataluña, País Valenciano, Castilla-La Mancha y Región de Murcia. El CPRL dispone de su propio portal web,4 donde está publicado íntegramente, pero es accesible desde IDEArq, donde se puede consultar el inventario fotográfico y gran parte de la información textual de las estaciones y motivos. Introducción a las IDE: http://www.idee.es/resources/ documentos/Introduccion_IDEE.pdf 4  Corpus de Pintura Rupestre Levantina: http://www.prehistoria.ceh.csic.es/AAR/ 3 

2. Base de Datos de Radiocarbono de la Prehistoria Reciente Ibérica (IDEArq-C14), en la que se basa el presente trabajo. 3. Archivo de valores isotópicos de la Península Ibérica δimP 5 (IDEArq-δimP), una base de datos de valores isotópicos de estroncio, oxígeno, carbono y nitrógeno obtenidos de restos humanos y animales recuperados en contextos arqueológicos de la Península Ibérica. Como corresponde a una IDE, la integración entre estos conjuntos de información depende en primera instancia de las propiedades espaciales de los datos temáticos. La estructura relacional está organizada, en consecuencia, a partir de una «capa de yacimientos», que contiene información sobre los sitios arqueológicos de los que procede cada uno de los ítems incluidos en cada base de datos temática. Para que el alto grado de integración de la información que requiere este diseño sea posible, IDEArq cuenta con un modelo de datos general a partir del cual se han desarrollado como extensiones los modelos de datos de las bases de datos temáticas. Por su parte, este modelo general es el resultado de un desarrollo específico del Modelo de Datos de Patrimonio Histórico (vid. una descripción completa en Fernández, Parcero y Uriarte 2014, así como diversas aproximaciones en Fernández Freire et al. 2012, 2013; Parcero et al. 2013; Uriarte et al. 2013). Dicho modelo de datos fue propuesto en 2010 por el Grupo de Trabajo de Patrimonio Histórico del GTIDEE y concebido como un desarrollo de la Especificación de Datos de Lugares Protegidos (INSPIRE Thematic Working Group Protected Sites 2010), establecidos como datos de referencia de la Directiva INSPIRE 6 en su anexo I. Este marco normativo y conceptual, incluye las normativas europeas sobre información geográfica, los distintos convenios y además las principales normas internacionales sobre el mismo tema, como la serie de normas ISO 19100 y los estándares del Open Geospatial Consortium (OGC). Al asumirlo se garantiza la interoperabilidad del sistema y su carácter abierto. Queda fuera del propósito de este trabajo explicar en toda su extensión el modelo de datos, el cual, no obstante, es uno de los elementos más relevantes del conjunto de la plataforma y es la clave de su funcionalidad. El proceso de modelización consiste en proponer un esquema

5  La creación de este archivo tiene su origen en el proyecto HAR2013-47776-R, «Dieta y movilidad humana en la Prehistoria de la Península Ibérica (3100-1500 ANE). Los casos de la cuenca media del Tajo y el Alto Guadalquivir», I. P. Pedro Díaz-del-Río. 6  Infrastructure for Spatial Information in Europe (INSPIRE): https://inspire.ec.europa.eu/

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conceptual que dé cuenta de todos los tipos de entidades incluidos en un universo empírico concreto (en este caso todos los elementos potencialmente vinculados a la disciplina arqueológica), reduciendo su variedad a un conjunto limitado de clases que son descritas por atributos y entre las que existen relaciones. El modelo IDEArq consiste así en un conjunto de clases básicas, entre las cuales ocupa un lugar central la clase entidad cultural (cualquier objeto del mundo real en cuya conformación ha intervenido la acción humana). Otras clases básicas son documento, muestra y análisis; estas son subsidiarias de la clase entidad cultural y su naturaleza es eminentemente informacional. Dentro del modelo de datos existen subclases de estas clases básicas. Por ejemplo, material c14 como subclase de muestra; datación c14, de análisis; o fotogramas CPRL, de documentos (fig. 7.2). Esto da idea de la forma en la que el modelo de datos permite integrar informaciones en principio heterogéneas. Es importante subrayar que, en lo que se refiere a IDEArq-C14, este modelo de datos determina una originalidad notable en relación con otras bases de datos de dataciones radiocarbónicas. En muchos casos, la estructura conceptual de las clases informacionales de estas bases de datos parte de la datación como entidad central, de la cual son atributos no solo sus diferentes magnitudes isotópicas o sus identificadores, sino también los materiales de la muestra fechada e incluso los objetos arqueológicos y los contextos de los que proceden. Esta forma de organizar la información invierte completamente la lógica del proceso de conocimiento arqueológico y resulta altamente disfuncional a la hora de integrar la información cronométrica con otros tipos de datos arqueológicos. Creemos que estos problemas quedan satisfactoriamente resueltos por el modelo de datos de IDEArq-C14, que pone las entidades arqueológicas, como el yacimiento y el objeto arqueológico, en el centro, y las dataciones como elementos subsidiarios. Desde este punto de vista, dicho modelo de datos puede

tener un valor normativo más allá de su propio ámbito concreto. La arquitectura de IDEArq se completa con lo que se denomina capa de presentación, constituida por un conjunto de herramientas que permite a los usuarios el acceso a la información y a los editores su gestión. Circunscribiéndonos a las herramientas de acceso abierto orientadas a los usuarios, IDEArq cuenta, en la actualidad, con tres sistemas de acceso: – Un servicio de mapas tipo WMS (Web Map Service),7 que permite consumir la información mediante mapas interactivos desde diferentes tipos de plataformas (por ejemplo software SIG o visualizadores geográficos web). – Un visualizador geográfico en el que se pueden consultar los conjuntos de datos a partir de los atributos de los yacimientos arqueológicos. – Un interfaz de consulta temática específicamente creado para IDEArq-C14, que permite acceder a los datos mediante consultas basadas en los atributos de las dataciones. El uso combinado de estas herramientas permite a los usuarios la explotación científica de los datos y, en su caso, su integración en sus propios proyectos y sistemas de información. Las únicas restricciones en el acceso a la información se refieren a la precisión de las geolocalizaciones de los yacimientos, que ha sido reducida con una limitación de escala suficiente como para garantizar la seguridad de los conjuntos arqueológicos. Por lo demás, debe destacarse que la plataforma IDEArq se ajusta a los criterios de acceso y gestión de los datos que caracterizan el actual movimiento Open Data8 y, más concretamente, los principios definidos por los criterios FAIR (Wilkinson et al. 2016): findability, accessibility, interoperability y reusability. 7.2.3. Más allá del tiempo: aplicaciones no cronométricas de IDEArq-C14 En un artículo seminal, John Rick (1987) propuso la utilización de las dataciones radiocarbónicas como fuente de datos para aplicaciones no estrictamente cronométricas, particularmente aquellas relacionadas con las dinámicas de poblaWeb Map Service: https://www.opengeospatial.org/ standards/wms. 8  Panton Principles. Principles for Open Data in Science: http://pantonprinciples.org/. «By open data in science we mean that it is freely available on the public Internet permitting any user to download, copy, analyse, reprocess, pass them to software or use them for any other purpose without financial, legal, or technical barriers other than those inseparable from gaining access to the Internet itself. To this end data related to published science should be explicitly placed in the public domain». 7 

Figura 7.2.  Diagrama de clases UML en el que se muestran algunas de las entidades básicas que forman parte del modelo de datos de IDEArq y las relaciones entre estas (Uriarte et al. 2017: 211).

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miento en el pasado. Este enfoque, denominado dates as data a partir del título de aquel artículo, ha cobrado especial vigencia en la actualidad, como consecuencia del desarrollo reciente de grandes bases de datos cronométricos, que permiten el procesamiento estadístico de series suficientemente amplias de dataciones. En la sección anterior se han presentado algunas de las características fundamentales de IDEArq, la plataforma de acceso a diferentes corpus de información arqueológica. En lo que se refiere al conjunto de datos IDEArq-C14, hay que señalar que las condiciones de acceso y las funcionalidades de consulta abren la posibilidad de aplicaciones científicas que trascienden los límites de la mera referencia cronométrica, que es la más inmediata utilidad de un repertorio de dataciones radiocarbónicas. Aunque es imposible cuantificar el grado de representatividad de los datos incluidos en la base de datos en relación con la totalidad de las determinaciones de 14C efectivamente realizadas para el período cronológico de referencia en los territorios de la Península Ibérica, puede afirmarse que, como se ha dicho más arriba, el conjunto ofrece la práctica totalidad de los datos disponibles en el corpus «normal» de la disciplina, desde los inicios de la aplicación del método hasta la actualidad, y que, por consiguiente, representa una muestra significativa y no sesgada de la cronología radiocarbónica realmente existente. Las muestras publicadas fuera de ese corpus o aquellas realizadas pero nunca publicadas no han intervenido, por su propia naturaleza, en la construcción de la cronología radiocarbónica de la prehistoria reciente ibérica, y, por lo tanto, son científicamente irrelevantes. La amplitud geográfica y cronológica del conjunto de datos y las funcionalidades de las herramientas de acceso abren un campo de aplicaciones que excede la mera localización y recuperación de dataciones singulares, y posibilita el uso de series amplias en estudios de ámbito regional y diacrónico, así como en aplicaciones inferenciales de tipo no estrictamente cronométrico. Entre estas últimas, podemos citar las siguientes: – Investigaciones historiográficas sobre la arqueología de la Península Ibérica. – Trabajos sobre demografía prehistórica, en los que se usan las dataciones radiocarbónicas como un proxy de la actividad humana y la densidad del poblamiento (Shennan et al. 2013; Downey et al. 2014; Balsera et al. 2015b; García Puchol, Díez y Pardo 2018). Un elemento central de este enfoque es la elaboración, análisis e interpretación de las distribuciones de suma de probabilidades de dataciones calibradas (summed calibrated date probability distributions, SCDPD).

– Estudios paleoclimáticos, en los que se usa información isotópica de las propias dataciones, como el valor δ13C. Algunas de estas posibilidades ya han sido exploradas en aplicaciones concretas de los datos de IDEArq-C14, realizadas recientemente: – Una aproximación histórica a la evolución territorial de la producción de dataciones radiocarbónicas en España y Portugal (Uriarte et al. 2017: 217-224). – Un estudio de la evolución demográfica de la Península Ibérica en el intervalo 7000-2000 cal BC (Balsera et al. 2015b). – Una investigación sobre la transición del Calcolítico a la Edad del Bronce a partir de varios indicadores paleoambientales y paleodemográficos, como las dataciones 14C, los valores δ13C de las plantas C3 y los registros palinológicos (Lillios et al. 2016). Finalmente, las características del conjunto de datos IDEArq-C14 lo hacen idóneo para su uso como instancia crítica para la evaluación de la consistencia del propio conjunto de datos. En la sección siguiente examinaremos una posible aplicación de los datos a la evaluación de los sesgos derivados de la propia naturaleza del proceso de producción de dataciones radiocarbónicas. 7.3. EXPLORANDO LOS SESGOS

7.3.1. Modelizando la «intensidad diferencial de la investigación» Se ha señalado que algunas de las aplicaciones mencionadas, particularmente las aproximaciones a la demografía prehistórica, son muy sensibles a posibles sesgos en las bases muestrales: The basis for this demographic proxy is the assumption that there is a relationship between the number of dated archaeological sites falling within a given time interval in a given region (or their summed date probabilities) and population density. Clearly, a variety of factors can potentially disturb this relationship. Sampling error could lead to misleading features in SCDPDs, particularly if sample sizes are small. In addition, spatiotemporal variation in site preservation and archaeological sampling biases, choice of samples to radiocarbon date, sample preparation contamination and laboratory protocols are all potential sources of systematic error (Shennan et al. 2013: 3).

Estos «sesgos de muestreo» influyen especialmente en los estudios a gran escala, que requieren la comparación de series regionales, como es el caso del estudio del que ha sido extraída esta cita. Obviamente, la cantidad de dataciones disponibles para cada conjunto regional no solo de-

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pende del número de yacimientos efectivamente ocupados en el lapso de tiempo correspondiente, sino también de cuántos de ellos cuentan con datos cronométricos. Esta relación entre yacimientos ocupados y yacimientos excavados y datados depende de factores tafonómicos (spatiotemporal variation in site preservation), pero también de factores históricos, relativos al propio desarrollo de la investigación arqueológica. En principio, los sesgos derivados de factores tafonómicos dependen de factores locales que deben ser establecidos en cada caso (conservación diferencial del registro), o afectan a subconjuntos específicos de datos (visibilidad diferencial de los distintos tipos de formaciones arqueológicas). Pero los «sesgos de muestreo» derivados de la historia de la investigación son sistemáticos, en el sentido de que no dependen de factores específicos de cada muestra, sino del proceso de producción de dataciones considerado en su conjunto. Por otra parte, hay que subrayar que estos sesgos afectan de forma directa a la variabilidad espacial del registro. Es posible, en efecto, que los territorios en los que se ha investigado escasamente estén infrarrepresentados en los cálculos demográficos y, simétricamente, las zonas en las que la investigación ha sido más intensa estén sobrevaloradas. Este factor es considerado con frecuencia como uno de los problemas de las estimaciones demográficas basadas en el registro radiocarbónico (véase, por ejemplo, Contreras y Meadows 2014; Chaput et al. 2015; Alday et al. 2017). En algunos casos, se ha tratado de afrontar mediante ajustes en los métodos, pero en la mayor parte de las aplicaciones se renuncia a un análisis empírico del problema, asumiéndose que las series de dataciones representan homogéneamente la distribución efectiva del poblamiento prehistórico. Los ajustes en los métodos estadísticos pueden funcionar aceptablemente en las aproximaciones globales basadas en la suma de probabilidades, pero es discutible que pueda decirse lo mismo cuando se introduce la dimensión espacial de la variabilidad del registro, como ocurre con el método KDE. El estudio histórico preliminar realizado a partir del conjunto de datos IDEArq-C14 en Uriarte y otros (2017) demuestra que este es el caso en lo que se refiere a la Península Ibérica. El análisis de la distribución espaciotemporal de las producción de dataciones a escala peninsular (en el trabajo no se incluyen los datos de las Islas Baleares) muestra patrones de variación interterritoral claramente imputables a factores históricos, como son, entre otros, el ritmo y concentración de los procesos de urbanización, la institucionalización local y regional de la ciencia arqueológica y la financiación de la investigación, los sesgos regionales en la distribución de los intereses de investigación debidos a la existencia

de escuelas regionales centradas en problemas específicos, etc. La distribución espacial del conjunto total de dataciones permite reconstruir estos patrones históricos. Por ejemplo, a la vista del mapa de distribución de yacimientos de IDEArq-C14 (fig. 7.1), resulta plausible explicar el contraste entre la concentración de sitios datados en el área metropolitana de Madrid y su escasez en la Mancha occidental como la consecuencia de varias dinámicas históricas perfectamente identificables. De aquí se sigue que ambas áreas no son directamente comparables en argumentos sobre procesos diacrónicos que involucren la probabilidad de dataciones de períodos determinados. En efecto, en principio, parece más probable obtener dataciones de cualquier período en el entorno de Madrid que en la Mancha occidental, independientemente de cuáles fueran las tendencias demográficas en la prehistoria. Esta situación puede generalizarse a la totalidad de la Península Ibérica. El problema es que no sabemos cuál es la magnitud de este efecto «histórico» y hasta qué punto distorsiona las condiciones para una consideración comparativa de las cronologías regionales, como la que está en la base de las aproximaciones a la demografía, independientemente de cuál sea el método en el que se basen (suma de probabilidades, KDE). Ahora bien, asumiendo que el conjunto de dataciones recogidas en IDEArq-C14 constituye una muestra significativa y no sesgada del registro radiocarbónico «realmente existente» de la Península Ibérica, podemos aspirar, al menos, a modelizar estadísticamente el problema, con el fin de evaluar, de forma puramente orientativa, el tamaño y significatividad del efecto de las variaciones regionales acumuladas de la intensidad de la investigación sobre la estructura espaciotemporal del registro. Expondremos en la sección final del presente trabajo un ensayo experimental de un modelo de este tipo a partir de un caso de estudio: la transición Mesolítico-Neolítico en la Península Ibérica.9 7.3.2. Demografía y sesgos de muestreo en la transición Mesolítico-Neolítico en la Península Ibérica Los debates recientes sobre la neolitización de la Península Ibérica conceden un papel central a los fenómenos demográficos. El predominio casi absoluto de teorías migracionistas (apoyadas en gran parte en el análisis de los datos cronométricos) otorga gran peso a la distribución de las 9  El tratamiento de la información espacial se ha realizado con el software SIG ArcGIS (v. 10.4) y el análisis estadístico con el programa IBM SPSS Statistics (v. 24).

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poblaciones mesolíticas y neolíticas a lo largo del período transicional, y especialmente a la existencia de amplias zonas despobladas durante el período inmediatamente anterior a las primeras ocupaciones neolíticas. Estos «vacíos poblacionales» han sido explicados como consecuencia de factores biogeográficos: «the abandonment of the Iberian interior in the Early Holocene may be related to the particular geographic and climatic characteristics of the Peninsula» (Zilhão 2000: 144). La posible existencia de estos «vacíos poblacionales» es relevante en las discusiones sobre los patrones del proceso de neolitización, e interviene en los debates sobre el papel que en ellos desempeñan las poblaciones mesolíticas. Así, por ejemplo, la aparente desconexión entre las áreas «cardiales» mediterráneas y la central portuguesa ha sido uno de los principales argumentos (aunque no el único) en favor de la «hipótesis de la colonización marítima». La dinámica demográfica de la transición mesoneolítica ha sido abordada a partir del análisis del registro radiocarbónico en varios trabajos recientes de ámbito peninsular o regional (Bernabeu et al. 2014, 2016; Balsera et al. 2015a; García Puchol, Díez y Pardo 2018, entre otros). Los resultados obtenidos por estas investigaciones han sido interpretados invariablemente en los términos de la visión migracionista predominante del proceso y considerados como una corroboración empírica de la misma. Encontramos un buen ejemplo de ello en el trabajo de García Puchol, Díez y Pardo (2018), el único de los citados que propone una aproximación espacial a la modelización del registro radiocarbónico mediante la representación en mapas Kernel de las variaciones en la densidad de las sumas de probabilidades de las dataciones calibradas. En sus conclusiones, defienden la tesis de que sus resultados demuestran que el poblamiento mesolítico inmediatamente previo al Neolítico presenta una distribución desigual, con una significativa presencia de áreas despobladas: the first Neolithic groups settle in areas which, at the time of the farmers’ arrival, seem to be uninhabited (6000–5800 cal BC): Catalonia, mid and south Valencia districts and the coast of Malaga. Other areas such as Ebro and Portugal show a similar pattern in a more recent chronological interval, as does the Meseta (García Puchol, Díez y Pardo 2018: 1816).

Finalmente, concluyen: Two essential aspects can be drawn above all from the tendencies showed here: the different presence and uneven distribution of Mesolithic populations in moments preceding immediately the Neolithic, and the rapid impact and expansion of domestic plants and animals, especially along the Mediterranean coast and the main river valley (Ebro) (ibid.: 1817).

Es decir, la distribución espaciotemporal del registro radiocarbónico corrobora, a su juicio, una de las premisas cruciales de la teoría migracionista de la transición mesoneolítica, a saber, que la «ausencia de evidencia» sobre poblamiento preneolítico en ciertas regiones puede ser positivamente interpretada como «evidencia de ausencia» de poblamiento. Al margen de los debates metodológicos propios del enfoque dates as data, la aplicación de este al ámbito ibérico ha recibo críticas específicas, centradas en la calidad y homogeneidad del registro. Por ejemplo, Martins y otros (2015: 124) advierten de que el pequeño número de sitios mesoneolíticos datados y la distancia entre los clusters harían que el intento de establecer fases en el proceso en un marco bayesiano resultara «premature if not entirely tautological». Por su parte, Alday y otros (2017) enfatizan la importancia de los factores tafonómicos (conservación diferencial y escasa visibilidad del registro mesolítico) e históricos: Databases are not independent of several problems inherent to the archaeological discipline, such as taphonomy, post-depositional processes or history of the research. […] For these reasons, we believe that dating frequency curves never can be seen as a faithful reflect of the actual peopling (ibid.: 90).

En resumen, estas críticas se refieren, en general, a la dificultad de asumir que el registro radiocarbónico represente de una forma no sesgada el poblamiento prehistórico efectivo, considerando la dificultad de asumir condiciones homogéneas de representación para el conjunto de los territorios peninsulares que permitan una comparación entre las series regionales. Es decir, es posible que, considerada en su conjunto desde una perspectiva exclusivamente diacrónica, la suma de probabilidades pueda ser una aproximación aceptable a la dinámica demográfica, pero en el momento en el que se introduce la dimensión espacial se asume una cantidad desconocida de incertidumbre procedente de las fuentes de varianza enumeradas (conservación y visibilidad diferencial del registro, factores históricos). García Puchol y sus colaboradores (2018: 1809 y ss.) son conscientes de las críticas, y por ello, además de unos criterios muy exigentes en la selección de dataciones, introducen algunos ajustes para evitar los efectos de las variaciones tafonómicas y mejorar la calidad comparativa de los datos. Sin embargo, su valoración del posible sesgo debido a la intensidad acumulada de la investigación es bastante menos exigente y parece reposar, en última instancia, en una argumentación circular:

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  σ ≤ 200 σ ≤ 100 σ ≤ 50

VII milenio cal BC

VI milenio cal BC

Sí

No

Sí

No

158

1712

264

1606

124

1746

225

1645

68

1802

147

1723

Tabla 7.1.  Número de yacimientos del VII y VI milenios cal BC, en cada nivel de resolución temporal a partir de la desviación típica de las dataciones 14C.

In our opinion, beyond the research bias in favour of some areas (Valencia region, Catalonia, Madrid area, Cantabrian fringe), there are differences in the total population of some other areas (i.e. Guadiana valley, Galicia) where enough archaeological research has been undertaken in recent years, showing that the neolithisation process had important differences within the Iberian Peninsula which both we and other authors have remarked (ibid.: 1810-1811).

Al comparar los mapas de densidad elaborados por García Puchol, Díez y Pardo con el mapa que muestra la distribución general de dataciones registradas en IDEArq-C14, se observa una cierta analogía: las áreas de mayor densidad mesoneolítica corresponden, por lo general, a las concentraciones de yacimientos datados de cualquier período. Es decir, que la probabilidad de que existan yacimientos datados en algún momento de la transición Mesolítico-Neolítico es más alta en las zonas en las que se conoce mejor el registro, lo cual es, por otra parte, bastante razonable. Si es así, cabe la posibilidad de que los resultados estén parcial o totalmente distorsionados por el efecto de la variación territorial del sesgo debido a la intensidad diferencial de la investigación, y de que los presuntos vacíos poblacionales detectados por García Puchol, Díez y Pardo se deban en una parte significativa a diferencias regionales en el proceso histórico de producción de dataciones radiocarbónicas, en mayor medida que a la distribución real de las poblaciones prehistóricas. De ser así, es probable que nos encontremos ante un «contexto arqueológico aparente», usando la afortunada expresión de Bernabeu, Pérez y Martínez (1999). Para comprobar esta hipótesis trataremos de establecer si existe una relación estadísticamente significativa entre la distribución espacial del número total de yacimientos datados y la de aquellos asignables, grosso modo, a los límites temporales del proceso analizado por García Puchol, Díez y Pardo. Con objeto de simplificar el modelo, dividiremos este lapso en dos tramos: – VII milenio cal BC, correspondiente al período previo a la aparición en la Península Ibérica de los elementos diagnósticos del comienzo del Neolítico. Arqueológicamente corresponde, en

la mayor parte del territorio peninsular, al Mesolítico geométrico. – VI milenio cal BC, dentro de cuyos límites se fechan los más antiguos conjuntos neolíticos y se desarrollan procesos de dualidad cultural Mesolítico/Neolítico. Para delimitar cronológicamente estos dos grupos, hemos procedido a la calibración (a 2 σ) de todas las dataciones contenidas en IDEArq-C14 con la aplicación online OxCal,10 usando la curva de calibración IntCal13. De las 9058 dataciones disponibles, se han calibrado 8093, las que tienen valores de media y desviación típica registrados. Con el fin de hacer asignaciones cronológicas ajustadas, hemos seleccionado aquellas dataciones con un cierto nivel de precisión, concretamente aquellas cuyas desviaciones típicas originales (las de los valores no calibrados BP) sean iguales o inferiores a un determinado valor. A fin de hacer diferentes análisis con distintos niveles de resolución temporal, hemos ensayado el procedimiento con varias desviaciones típicas: 200, 100 y 50 años. Dentro de cada uno de estos niveles de precisión, del total de 1870 yacimientos se han asignado al VII y/o VI milenios aquellos que contienen al menos una datación calibrada cuyo intervalo temporal (a 2 σ) se solapa total o parcialmente con alguno de dichos períodos. Esta asignación se ha realizado para cada uno de los niveles de precisión citados (desviación típica igual o inferior a 200, 100 y 50) (tabla 7.1). La observación de los mapas (figs. 7.3 y 7.4) sugiere, en todos los casos, un patrón similar de distribución de los subconjuntos definidos. En líneas generales parece que hay más yacimientos del VI y VII milenios cal BC allí donde hay más yacimientos en general. Queda por comprobar si esta relación aparente es estadísticamente significativa y, si es el caso, en qué medida la covariación entre la densidad total de yacimientos y la de los grupos de interés tiene valor predictivo. Con ese objetivo, proponemos un modelo sencillo de regresión que permita cuantificar la correlación entre la distribución de cada uno de los subgrupos de yacimientos, que serían las variables dependientes del modelo,

10 

113

OxCal: https://c14.arch.ox.ac.uk/oxcal.html.

Figura 7.3.  Distribución de los yacimientos del VII milenio cal BC y del resto, en el nivel de resolución temporal establecido a partir de desviaciones típicas inferiores o iguales a 100.

Figura 7.5.  Regiones utilizadas en el análisis, establecidas a partir del nivel 2 de la Nomenclatura de las Unidades Territoriales Estadísticas de la Unión Europea (NUTS 2).

Figura 7.4.  Distribución de los yacimientos del VI milenio cal BC y del resto, en el nivel de resolución temporal establecido a partir de desviaciones típicas inferiores o iguales a 100.

y la distribución general del resto de sitios, que actuaría como variable independiente. Para construir la tabla de datos se han definido unidades territoriales, utilizando como base el nivel 2 de la Nomenclatura de las Unidades Territoriales Estadísticas de la Unión Europea11 (fig. 7.5). Se han utilizado las NUTS 2 peninsulares de España y Portugal, a las que se ha sumado el territorio de Andorra, que no está incluido en el inventario de NUTS. Este nivel corresponde, en el caso de España, a las Comunidades Autónomas, la cuales, en términos generales, constituyen el marco jurídicoadministrativo de las políticas patrimoniales y, por lo tanto, la instancia determinante de la intensidad diferencial de la investigación. No 11  NUTS–Nomenclature of Territorial Units for Statistics: https://ec.europa.eu/eurostat/web/nuts/background.

114

Figura 7.6.  Densidad de yacimientos por regiones, en el nivel de resolución temporal establecido a partir de desviaciones típicas inferiores o iguales a 100: a) VII milenio cal BC, b) resto.

σ ≤ 200

  Región Alentejo Algarve Andalucía Andorra Aragón Asturias Cantabria Castilla y León Castilla-La Mancha Cataluña Comunidad de Madrid Comunidad Valenciana Extremadura Galicia La Rioja Lisboa / Setúbal Murcia Navarra País Vasco Portugal Centro Portugal Norte

Superficie (km2) 30 574.29 5 017.27 87 599.11 466.12 47 730.80 10 609.04 5 321.12 94 227.20 79 410.31 32 202.52 8 025.58 23 266.72 41 679.19 29 681.87 5 041.52 7 938.99 11 313.13 10 385.61 7 232.46 27 546.63 18 213.35

σ ≤ 100

σ ≤ 50

VII mil

Resto

VII mil

Resto

VII mil

Resto

0.0556 0.0598 0.0114 0.2145 0.0230 0.1508 0.0940 0.0117 0.0038 0.0373 0.0000 0.0559 0.0024 0.0202 0.0000 0.1889 0.0088 0.0385 0.1659 0.0399 0.0329

0.3663 0.5381 0.2078 0.8581 0.1676 0.4807 0.7893 0.1783 0.0756 0.6273 0.5482 0.4169 0.0744 0.4818 0.3769 1.2092 0.4420 0.3274 1.4380 0.2650 0.5106

0.0425 0.0598 0.0080 0.2145 0.0230 0.1037 0.0752 0.0096 0.0025 0.0311 0.0000 0.0430 0.0024 0.0135 0.0000 0.1512 0.0000 0.0096 0.1521 0.0363 0.0220

0.3794 0.5381 0.2112 0.8581 0.1676 0.5279 0.8081 0.1804 0.0768 0.6335 0.5482 0.4298 0.0744 0.4885 0.3769 1.2470 0.4508 0.3563 1.4518 0.2686 0.5216

0.0164 0.0399 0.0034 0.2145 0.0168 0.0471 0.0188 0.0096 0.0013 0.0186 0.0000 0.0301 0.0000 0.0034 0.0000 0.0630 0.0000 0.0000 0.1106 0.0182 0.0055

0.4056 0.5581 0.2158 0.8581 0.1739 0.5844 0.8645 0.1804 0.0781 0.6459 0.5482 0.4427 0.0768 0.4986 0.3769 1.3352 0.4508 0.3659 1.4933 0.2868 0.5381

Tabla 7.2.  Densidad de yacimientos (sitios/100 km2) en cada región. Se muestran las densidades de los yacimientos asignados al VII milenio cal BC y las de los restantes, en cada nivel de resolución temporal a partir de la desviación típica de las dataciones 14C.

Figura 7.7.  Densidad de yacimientos por regiones, en el nivel de resolución temporal establecido a partir de desviaciones típicas inferiores o iguales a 100: a) VI milenio cal BC, b) resto.

estamos en condiciones de hacer una afirmación semejante para Portugal, lo cual supone un problema que debería ser resuelto en una versión más elaborada del experimento. De cualquier manera, se trata, en ambos casos, de unidades arbitrarias desde el punto de vista biogeográfico.

Para compensar las desigualdades en la extensión de estas unidades y la distribución desigual del registro en su interior, no se ha computado simplemente el número de yacimientos de cada subgrupo en cada unidad, sino que se ha calculado su densidad, dividiendo la frecuencia absoluta por la extensión de la unidad y expresando el

115

σ ≤ 200

  Región Alentejo Algarve Andalucía Andorra Aragón Asturias Cantabria Castilla y León Castilla-La Mancha Cataluña Comunidad de Madrid Comunidad Valenciana Extremadura Galicia La Rioja Lisboa / Setúbal Murcia Navarra País Vasco Portugal Centro Portugal Norte

Superficie (km2) 30 574.29 5 017.27 87 599.11 466.12 47 730.80 10 609.04 5 321.12 94 227.20 79 410.31 32 202.52 8 025.58 23 266.72 41 679.19 29 681.87 5 041.52 7938.99 11 313.13 10 385.61 7 232.46 27 546.63 18 213.35

σ ≤ 100

σ ≤ 50

VI mil

Resto

VI mil

Resto

VI mil

Resto

0.0720 0.2192 0.0297 0.2145 0.0356 0.1320 0.1316 0.0180 0.0038 0.1025 0.0623 0.1032 0.0048 0.0404 0.0198 0.2771 0.0177 0.0481 0.2489 0.0363 0.0659

0.3500 0.3787 0.1895 0.8581 0.1550 0.4996 0.7517 0.1719 0.0756 0.5621 0.4859 0.3696 0.0720 0.4616 0.3570 1.1210 0.4331 0.3177 1.3550 0.2686 0.4777

0.0621 0.2192 0.0274 0.2145 0.0314 0.0848 0.1316 0.0159 0.0038 0.0901 0.0623 0.0817 0.0048 0.0270 0.0198 0.2393 0.0000 0.0481 0.2074 0.0327 0.0494

0.3598 0.3787 0.1918 0.8581 0.1592 0.5467 0.7517 0.1740 0.0756 0.5745 0.4859 0.3911 0.0720 0.4750 0.3570 1.1588 0.4508 0.3177 1.3965 0.2723 0.4941

0.0392 0.0797 0.0205 0.2145 0.0230 0.0283 0.0752 0.0149 0.0025 0.0745 0.0498 0.0774 0.0048 0.0135 0.0000 0.1386 0.0000 0.0385 0.0830 0.0182 0.0000

0.3827 0.5182 0.1986 0.8581 0.1676 0.6033 0.8081 0.1751 0.0768 0.5900 0.4984 0.3954 0.0720 0.4885 0.3769 1.2596 0.4508 0.3274 1.5209 0.2868 0.5436

Tabla 7.3.  Densidad de yacimientos (sitios/100 km2) en cada región. Se muestran las densidades de los yacimientos asignados al VI milenio cal BC y las de los restantes, en cada nivel de resolución temporal a partir de la desviación típica de las dataciones 14C.

resultado en número de sitios por cada 100 km2 (tabs. 7.2 y 7.3; figs. 7.6 y 7.7). De esta manera, las unidades con mayor proporción de territorio «vacío» tendrán valores más bajos, independientemente de su extensión absoluta. Así pues, el análisis de regresión se ha realizado comparando la densidad de yacimientos de cada período con la del resto de yacimientos a partir de sus valores para cada unidad territorial (figs. 7.8 y 7.9). A fin de diversificar la comparación, se ha replicado el análisis de regresión con los logaritmos decimales de las densidades de yacimientos. Este modelo de análisis se ha ejecutado independientemente para cada uno de los subgrupos de referencia (VII y VI milenio cal BC) y los distintos niveles de precisión correspondientes, como se ha dicho, a las desviaciones típicas 200, 100 y 50 años. Los resultados del análisis se resumen en los correspondientes coeficientes de determinación (cuadrado del coeficiente de correlación), que expresan la proporción de la varianza de la variable dependiente que se asocia con la variable independiente. En las tablas 7.4 y 7.5 se recogen los valores de estos coeficientes para los dos sub-

116

Figura 7.8.  Resultados del análisis de regresión en que se comparan, por regiones, las densidades de yacimientos del VII milenio cal BC con las de los restantes, en el nivel de resolución temporal establecido a partir de desviaciones típicas inferiores o iguales a 100. Se muestran el diagrama de dispersión, la recta de regresión y los intervalos de predicción.

  σ ≤ 200 σ ≤ 100 σ ≤ 50

R 0.614 0.612 0.367 2

Sitios / 100 km2 p-valor 0.000 0.000 0.004

n 21 21 21

Sitios / 100 km2 (log10) R p-valor n (*) 0.749 0.000 19 0.781 0.000 18 0.542 0.000 16 2

(*) Los casos con valores de densidad cero y, por tanto, sin valor logarítmico, no han podido incluirse en el análisis.

Tabla 7.4.  Resultados de los análisis de regresión en que se comparan, por regiones, las densidades de yacimientos del VII milenio cal BC con las de los restantes. Se muestran los coeficientes de determinación, los p-valores y el número de casos en cada análisis. Se ha realizado un análisis de regresión por cada nivel de resolución temporal a partir de la desviación típica de las dataciones 14C. Se han analizado tanto los valores de densidad como los logaritmos en base 10 de estos.

  σ ≤ 200 σ ≤ 100 σ ≤ 50

R2 0.714 0.635 0.422

Sitios / 100 km2 p-valor 0.000 0.000 0.001

n 21 21 21

Sitios / 100 km2 (log10) R2 p-valor n (*) 0.759 0.000 21 0.800 0.000 20 0.755 0.000 18

(*) Los casos con valores de densidad cero y, por tanto, sin valor logarítmico, no han podido incluirse en el análisis.

Tabla 7.5.  Resultados de los análisis de regresión en que se comparan, por regiones, las densidades de yacimientos del VI milenio cal BC con las de los restantes. Se muestran los coeficientes de determinación, los p-valores y el número de casos en cada análisis. Se ha realizado un análisis de regresión por cada nivel de resolución temporal a partir de la desviación típica de las dataciones 14C. Se han analizado tanto los valores de densidad como los logaritmos en base 10 de estos.

Figura 7.9.  Resultados del análisis de regresión en que se comparan, por regiones, las densidades de yacimientos del VI milenio cal BC con las de los restantes, en el nivel de resolución temporal establecido a partir de desviaciones típicas inferiores o iguales a 100. Se muestran el diagrama de dispersión, la recta de regresión y los intervalos de predicción

grupos de referencia y los distintos niveles de precisión de los datos cronométricos seleccionados. En todos los casos se observa una correlación importante y significativa (es decir, no atribuible al azar). Las oscilaciones en los valores de R2 entre los distintos niveles de precisión cronológica son coherentes con las características generales de la serie. Por ejemplo, es esperable que al seleccionar dataciones con σ ≤ 50 los coeficientes sean más bajos, porque el número de dataciones disminuye drásticamente. Por otra parte, la media de las desviaciones típicas de las 8903 dataciones que se han utilizado en el experimento es de 73.20, con una desviación típica de 110.30. Desde este punto de vista, el criterio de selección σ ≤ 50 es más exigente de lo que permite la calidad de los datos, globalmente considerada. Teniendo en cuenta estas observaciones, podemos concluir que, para el conjunto de dataciones con σ ≤ 100, el modelo explica aproximadamente un 65 % de la varianza de los dos subgrupos estudiados. Esta proporción llega a un 80 % en la versión logarítmica. Los resultados son ligeramente más altos para la serie σ ≤ 200 y, como se ha comentado, peores en el caso σ ≤ 50. En general, podemos asumir que el modelo, en sus diferentes versiones, da cuenta de unos dos tercios de la varianza total de la tabla de datos.

117

7.3.3. Discusión El valor y la significatividad de los coeficientes de determinación obtenidos para las distintas selecciones de fechas indican, en una primera lectura, que la distribución de la densidad de yacimientos con fechas dentro del lapso VII-VI milenios cal BC está fuertemente correlacionada con la distribución general de los yacimientos fechados para el resto de los períodos. Esto significa, en primera instancia, que podemos predecir con un elevado nivel de certeza el número aproximado de sitios mesoneolíticos datados que habrá en una unidad territorial dada conociendo el número total de yacimientos de otras épocas registrados en dicha unidad. Es decir, la densidad de yacimientos de los subgrupos considerados covaría significativamente cuando se calcula para los territorios de las unidades político-administrativas NUTS 2. Por lo tanto, la intensidad de la investigación, en tanto en cuanto es representada por la variabilidad de los datos cronométricos en este marco espacial, es relevante en la distribución de cualquier función probabilística (incluyendo la suma de probabilidades) derivada del registro cronométrico. El alcance de este resultado debe ser matizado. El modelo propuesto es muy general y el significado empírico de los coeficientes de determinación se limita a indicar que el valor promedio a escala regional de la densidad de yacimientos datados para cada subgrupo está significativamente correlacionado con el valor promedio de la densidad total de yacimientos del resto de los períodos registrados en la base de datos. Es decir, existe un patrón regional en la distribución de la densidad de yacimientos datados que determina las características de cualquier subgrupo extraído de dicha distribución y, por otra parte, este patrón explica una fracción de la varianza total de la distribución que supera en todos los casos el 50 %. Cabe interpretar plausiblemente que este efecto refleja (incluso, hasta cierto punto, «mide») el sesgo introducido en el registro por el desarrollo diferencial de la investigación en las distintas unidades territoriales consideradas. En cierto sentido, este modelo histórico funciona como «control de calidad» de los propios datos, más que como una aproximación al significado sustantivo de los mismos. Lo más destacable, en definitiva, es que este «efecto» da cuenta de una gran parte de la varianza total de las series, que oscila entre algo más de la mitad y dos terceras partes, dependiendo de los criterios de selección de dataciones. Hay que subrayar que el significado de este resultado depende del carácter arbitrario de las unidades espaciales de referencia. Estas unidades son heterogéneas desde el punto de vista biogeo-

gráfico, de modo que la variabilidad en la densidad de fechas no puede atribuirse, en principio, a determinantes estructurales de la ocupación humana, como las particularidades geográficas y climáticas invocadas por Zilhão (2000: 144). La variabilidad interna de la mayor parte de estas entidades incluye valles fluviales, sierras, depresiones, humedales, llanuras esteparias, etc. No podemos suponer, por lo tanto, que el efecto de covariación observado se deba a mayores densidades de población a lo largo de las diferentes fases de la prehistoria atribuibles a mejores condiciones de habitabilidad. Este efecto existe sin duda, pero es «transparente» para nuestro modelo. Para evaluarlo habría, de hecho, que analizar la distribución del registro en unidades biogeográficas consistentes, descontando el efecto de la intensidad de la investigación. Es decir, que el factor histórico y el biogeográfico no son excluyentes, sino, en todo caso, concurrentes, y existe una prioridad lógica del primero con respecto al segundo. Por último, hay que tener en cuenta que el modelo explica una alta proporción de la varianza espaciotemporal de las series de datos, pero no toda. La variación no explicada, expresada en los residuos del modelo (es decir, la diferencia entre los valores observados y las predicciones del modelo) (tabla 7.6), oscila entre la mitad y un tercio del total, dependiendo del criterio de selección adoptado. La tabla de residuos representa la existencia de otras fuentes de varianza asociada a factores no considerados en el modelo. Estos factores pueden ser de tipo observacional, como los tafonómicos, o estructural, como los factores biogeográficos o, naturalmente, demográficos. En cualquier caso, parece que cualquier aproximación a estos últimos requiere que la varianza atribuible a la intensidad de la investigación y a los factores tafonómicos sea retirada de la tabla de datos, lo cual sugiere que el diseño de la investigación debe adoptar la forma de un modelo multifactorial que oriente un análisis empírico recursivo. La tabla de residuos proporciona algunas indicaciones en este sentido, como por ejemplo, los valores positivos muy altos que presentan Andorra o algunas áreas costeras. En el primer caso, parecen deberse a factores muy concretos de la historia de la investigación. El segundo puede explicarse por el hecho de que las áreas costeras con valores residuales positivos muy altos poseen una categoría específica de formación arqueológica (concheros) conocida desde antiguo, que compensa los problemas generales de visibilidad del registro preneolítico, que han sido descritos por Alday y otros (2017) fuera de su área de distribución. Sea como fuere, el modelo que hemos propuesto parece sugerir que el registro radiocarbónico ibérico está sobredeterminado por el efecto acumulado del proceso histórico de producción

118

VII milenio cal BC

  Región Alentejo Algarve Andalucía Andorra Aragón Asturias Cantabria Castilla y León Castilla-La Mancha Cataluña Comunidad de Madrid Comunidad Valenciana Extremadura Galicia La Rioja Lisboa / Setúbal Murcia Navarra País Vasco Portugal Centro Portugal Norte

VI milenio cal BC

σ ≤ 200

σ ≤ 100

σ ≤ 50

σ ≤ 200

σ ≤ 100

σ ≤ 50

0.3999 -0.1102 -0.0882 2.4343 0.3309 2.2583 -0.1889 0.0225 0.1993 -0.9624 -1.5681 0.2268 0.1707 -0.8515 -0.9599 0.5796 -0.9807 0.1317 -0.7798 0.3868 -0.6511

0.3019 0.2012 -0.0150 3.1290 0.5295 1.3828 -0.3355 0.1327 0.3091 -0.8805 -1.3950 0.1388 0.3144 -0.8355 -0.7994 0.1229 -1.0563 -0.4764 -0.5642 0.5245 -0.7290

-0.0812 0.1842 -0.0136 3.8359 0.3958 0.3082 -0.9470 0.2070 0.2112 -0.5102 -0.7674 0.1786 0.1832 -0.5852 -0.4219 -0.8191 -0.5709 -0.3997 0.0229 0.2021 -0.6130

0.1459 3.1986 -0.0137 0.8394 0.2771 0.7403 -0.4557 -0.1828 -0.0379 -0.1921 -0.7033 0.7285 0.0011 -1.0619 -1.0155 0.9561 -1.4204 -0.2178 -0.7564 -0.2429 -0.5867

0.0895 3.2855 0.0091 1.3538 0.2174 -0.1534 0.0344 -0.1619 -0.0378 -0.1510 -0.3898 0.3757 -0.0028 -1.0835 -0.7803 0.7195 -1.5516 -0.0411 -0.8536 -0.1890 -0.6893

0.0815 0.7483 0.0511 3.2240 0.1823 -0.6876 -0.0244 -0.0325 -0.1055 0.4587 0.0725 0.9721 -0.0394 -0.7824 -0.8523 0.4728 -1.0213 0.1902 -1.4663 -0.2083 -1.2334

Tabla 7.6.  Residuos estandarizados resultado de los análisis de regresión en que se comparan por regiones, las densidades de yacimientos del VII y del VI milenio cal BC con las de los restantes. Se ha realizado un análisis de regresión por cada nivel de resolución temporal a partir de la desviación típica de las dataciones 14C.

de dataciones y, por tanto, cualquier aproximación al problema debe dar cuenta de este hecho. 7.4. CONCLUSIONES Creemos que el experimento presentado en este trabajo avala algunas generalizaciones útiles. En primer lugar, la existencia de grandes bases de datos cronométricos, como IDEArq-C14, permite no solo afrontar de manera rigurosa las aplicaciones cronométricas y desarrollar aplicaciones dentro del enfoque dates as data, sino que también proporciona las bases para una crítica sistemática del propio registro cronométrico. El modelo que hemos presentado, pese a su carácter evidentemente preliminar y simplificado, demuestra que el sesgo debido a la intensidad acumulada de la investigación puede ser estadísticamente modelizado. Esta posibilidad se debe considerar a partir de ahora como un imperativo metodológico. En el caso de la transición Mesolítico-Neolítico, parece claro que las generalizaciones sobre los pa-

trones espaciotemporales de poblamiento a escala peninsular están lejos de ser viables en el estado actual del conocimiento, habida cuenta de la heterogeneidad extrema entre los distintos territorios ibéricos. Nuestro análisis ha puesto de manifiesto que existen patrones regionales de intensidad acumulada de la investigación y que estos patrones son el principal componente de la varianza espaciotemporal de las series cronométricas. La viabilidad del uso de estas series como proxy de las dinámicas demográficas requiere una investigación rigurosa sobre las distorsiones ocasionadas por el proceso de producción de dataciones. El caso de los «vacíos poblacionales» mesolíticos puede ejemplificar los problemas ocasionados por la minusvaloración de los problemas observacionales. Finalmente, queda claro que cualquier aproximación al uso de las series de dataciones como datos debe basarse en modelos estadísticos multifactoriales, que incluyan los sesgos de tipo histórico, pero también los derivados de la variabilidad biogeográfica, y los factores tafonómicos, antes de pasar a interpretar la variabilidad en términos demográficos.

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BIBLIOGRAFÍA Alday, A.; Hernández Domingo, R.; Sebastián, M.; Soto, A.; Aranbarri, J.;... y Peña-Monné, J. L. (2017): «The Silence of the Layers: Archaeological Site Visibility in the Pleistocene-Holocene Transition at the Ebro Basin», Quaternary Science Reviews, 184: 85-106. Balsera, V.; Díaz-del-Río Español, P.; Gilman, A.; Uriarte González, A., y Vicent García, J. M. (2015a): «The Radiocarbon Chronology of Southern Spain’s Late Prehistory (5600– 1000 cal BC): A Comparative Review», Oxford Journal of Archaeology, 34 (2): 139-156. —(2015b): «Approaching the Demography of Late Prehistoric Iberia through Summed Calibrated Date Probability Distributions (7000–2000 Cal BC)», Quaternary International, 386: 208-211. Bernabeu Aubán, J.; García Puchol, O.; Barton, M.; McClure, S. B., y Pardo Gordó, S. (2016): «Radiocarbon Dates, Climatic Events, and Social Dynamics during the Early Neolithic in Iberia», Quaternary International, 403: 201-210. Bernabeu Aubán, J.; García Puchol, O.; Pardo Gordó, S.; Barton, M., y McClure, S. B. (2014): «Socioecological dynamics at the time of Neolithic transition in Iberia», Environmental Archaeology. The Journal of Human Palaeoecology, 19 (3): 214-225. Bernabeu Aubán, J.; Pérez Ripoll, M., y Martínez Valle, R. (1999): «Huesos, neolitización y contextos arqueológicos aparentes», en J. Bernabeu Aubán y T. Orozco Köhler (eds.), II Congrés del Neolític a la Península Iberica. Universitat de València, València: 589-596. Bosque González, I. del y Vicent García, J. M. (2016): «Presentación de IDEArq, Infraestructura de Datos Espaciales de investigación arqueológica», Trabajos De Prehistoria, 73 (1): 190-192. Castro Martínez, P.V.; Lull, V., y Micó, R. (1996): Cronología de la Prehistoria Reciente de la Península Ibérica y Baleares (c. 2800-900 cal ANE). Archaeopress, Oxford. Chaput, M. A.; Kriesche, B.; Betts, M.; Martindale, A.; Kulik, R.;... y Gajewski, K. (2015): «Spatiotemporal Distribution of Holocene Populations in North America», Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America, 112 (39): 12127-12132.

Contreras, D. A. y Meadows, J. (2014): «Summed Radiocarbon Calibrations as a Population Proxy: A Critical Evaluation Using a Realistic Simulation Approach», Journal of Archaeological Science, 52: 591-608. Downey, S. S.; Bocaege, E.; Kerig, T.; Edinborough, K., y Shennan, S. (2014): «The Neolithic Demographic Transition in Europe: Correlation with Juvenility Index Supports Interpretation of the Summed Calibrated Radiocarbon Date Probability Distribution (SCDPD) as a Valid Demographic Proxy», PLOS ONE, 9 (8): e105730. Fernández Freire, C.; Bosque González, I. del; Vicent García, J. M.; Pérez Asensio, E.; Fraguas Bravo, A.;... y Parcero Oubiña, C. (2013): «A Cultural Heritage Application Schema: Achieving Interoperability of Cultural Heritage Data in INSPIRE», International Journal of Spatial Data Infrastructures Research, 8: 74-97. Fernández Freire, C.; Parcero Oubiña, C., y Uriarte González, A. (eds.) (2014): A Data Model for Cultural Heritage within INSPIRE. CSIC, Santiago de Compostela. Fernández Freire, C.; Pérez Asensio, E.; Bosque González, I. del; Uriarte González, A.; Vicent García, J. M.; Fraguas Bravo, A.;... y Fábrega Álvarez, P. (2012): «Proposal for a Cultural Heritage Application Schema within the INSPIRE Directive», en J. Gensel, D. Josselin y D. Vandenbroucke (eds.), Multidisciplinary Research on Geographical Information in Europe and Beyond. Proceedings of the AGILE’2012 International Conference on Geographic Information Science, Avignon, April, 24-27, 2012: 339-342. García Puchol, O.; Díez Castillo, A., y Pardo Gordó, S. (2018): «New Insights into the Neolithisation Process in Southwest Europe according to Spatial Density Analysis from Calibrated Radiocarbon Dates», Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences, 10 (7): 1807-1820. INSPIRE Thematic Working Group Protected sites (2010): «INSPIRE Data Specification on Protected Sites – Guidelines v3.1». European Commission Joint Research Center. Kuhn, T. S. (1979): La estructura de las revoluciones científicas. Fondo de Cultura Económica, México.

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Lillios, K.; Blanco González, A.; Drake, B. L., y López Sáez, J. A. (2016): «Mid-Late Holocene Climate, Demography, and Cultural Dynamics in Iberia: A Multi-Proxy Approach», Quaternary Science Reviews, 135: 138-153. Martins, H.; Oms, X.; Pereira, L.; Pike, A. W. G.; Bowsell, K., y Zilhão, J. (2015): «Radiocarbon Dating the Begining of Neolithic in Iberia. New Results, New Problems», Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology, 28 (1): 105-131. Parcero Oubiña, C.; Fábrega Álvarez, P.; Vicent García, J. M.; Uriarte González, A.; Fraguas Bravo, A.; Bosque González, I. del; ... y Pérez Asensio, E. (2013): «Conceptual Basis for a Cultural Heritage Data Model for INSPIRE», Revue Internationale de Géomatique / International Journal of Geomatics and Spatial Analysis, 23 (3-4): 445-467. Rick, J. W. (1987): «Dates as Data: An Examination of the Peruvian Preceramic Radiocarbon Record», American Antiquity, 52 (1): 55-73. Shennan, S.; Downey, S. S.; Timpson, A.; Edinborough, K.; Colledge, S.; Kerig, T.;... y Thomas, M. G. (2013): «Regional Population Collapse Followed Initial Agriculture Booms in Mid-Holocene Europe», Nature Communications, 4: 2486.

Uriarte González, A.; Fernández Freire, C.; Fraguas Bravo, A.; Castañeda Clemente, N.; Capdevila Montes, E.; Salas Tovar, E.;... y Vicent García, J. M. (2017): «IDEArq-C14: Una Infraestructura de Datos Espaciales para la cronología radiocarbónica de la Prehistoria Reciente ibérica», en J. A. Barceló, I. Bogdanovic y B. Morell (eds.), IberCrono. Cronometrías para la Historia de la Península Ibérica. Actas del Congreso de Cronometrías para la Historia de la Península Ibérica (IberCrono 2017). Barcelona, Spain, September 17-19, 2016. CEUR-WS, Vol-2024 (urn:nbn:de:0074-2024-4): 209-225. Uriarte González, A.; Parcero Oubiña, C.; Fraguas Bravo, A.; Fábrega Álvarez, P.; Vicent García, J. M.; Pérez Asensio, E.;... y Bosque González, I. del (2013): «Cultural Heritage Application Schema: A SDI framework within the Protected Sites INSPIRE Spatial Data Theme», en G. Earl, T. Sly, A. Chrysanthi, P. Murrieta-Flores, C. Papadopoulos, I. Romanowska y D. Wheatley (eds.), Archaeology in the Digital Era. Papers from the 40th Annual Conference of Computer Applications and Quantitative Methods in Archaeology (CAA), Southampton, 26-29 March 2012. Amsterdam University Press, Amsterdam: 279-290. Wilkinson, M. D. et al. (2016): «The FAIR Guiding Principles for Scientific Data Management and Stewardship», Scientific Data, 3: 160018. Zilhão, J. (2000): «From the Mesolithic to the Neolithic in the Iberian Peninsula», en T. D. Price (eds.), Europe’s First Farmers. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge: 144-182.

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VIII. LOS CAMINOS DE LA DESIGUALDAD. RELEYENDO LA PREHISTORIA RECIENTE DEL NOROESTE IBÉRICO César Parcero-Oubiña / Xosé-Lois Armada / Felipe Criado-Boado

Resumen Este trabajo trata sobre el desarrollo de la complejidad y la desigualdad social en la prehistoria del noroeste de la Península Ibérica (Galicia) entre el Neolítico medio y el fin de la Edad del Hierro, aproximadamente entre el entre 4500 BC y el cambio de era. En vez de entender la emergencia y extensión de las sociedades complejas como el resultado de una evolución lineal e inevitable, se centra en las resistencias, rechazos y en las estrategias comunitarias que procuraron abortar o reducir la explotación y la desigualdad. Basándonos en aproximaciones de la antropología anarquista (principalmente en el trabajo de Pierre Clastres), proponemos aplicar una visión alternativa que entienda el desarrollo de las sociedades complejas como el resultado de estrategias que adoptaron los grupos sociales para resistir la división social y su generalización facilitada por las transformaciones de las economías productoras (principalmente en la capacidad de producción de excedentes) o por la emulación de lo que ocurría a nivel global en las regiones atlánticas de Europa. Nuestra narrativa alternativa se centra en las huellas materiales del registro arqueológico y, en particular, en cómo diferentes procesos de materialización, como el desarrollo de la monumentalidad o la amortización de metales, pueden tener un papel activo, al menos en ciertos contextos, para desarrollar estrategias contra la división social. Aunque nos basamos principalmente en evidencias del noroeste ibérico, el examen de las dinámicas de la prehistoria reciente entre el V y I milenios a.C. permite esbozar un modelo teórico que se puede aplicar a estudios de caso de otras partes del mundo y, de hecho, inspirar lecturas alternativas de la prehistoria.

Palabras clave: Galicia, prehistoria reciente, desigualdad social, complejidad social, resistencia, arqueología social, antropología anarquista, Pierre Clastres. Abstract This paper deals with the development of social complexity and inequality in the Prehistory of the Northwest of the Iberian Peninsula (Galicia) between middle Neolithic and the Late Iron Age, ca. 4500 BC to the turn of the era. Instead of understanding the emergence and extension of complex societies as a result of a linear and unavoidable evolution, it focuses on the resistances, rejections and community strategies that tried to avoid or mitigate social inequality and exploitation. Using as a frame of our study the Anarchist approaches in Anthropology (mainly the early work of Pierre Clastres), we propose an alternate view that understands the development of complex societies as the result of communitarian strategies to resist the spreading of social division that was facilitated either by changes in the productive economy (namely the capacity to produce surpluses) or by external stimuli from processes happening on a wider scale in the Atlantic Europe. An alternative narrative focuses on how material strategies, such as the development of monumentality or the deposition of metallurgy, may have played an active role as mechanisms against social division. While primarily based on archaeological evidence from the Northwest of the Iberian Peninsula, it underpins a theoretical model that could be also applied in case-studies elsewhere and could inspire alternative views of Prehistory. Keywords: Galicia, late prehistory, social inequality, social complexity, resistance, Social Archaeology, Anarchist Anthropology, Pierre Clastres.

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8.1. ANTONIO GILMAN EN EL NOROESTE La incidencia directa más evidente que Antonio Gilman ha tenido en la arqueología española está relacionada con sus trabajos sobre el surgimiento y desarrollo de la complejidad social en el área mediterránea de la Península (e.g. Gilman 1987, 2001). Sin embargo, su obra no es solo un análisis de casos de estudio concretos, sino que está cruzada por abundantes contribuciones de carácter más general. Esto no solo se refiere a sus textos teóricos (p. e. idem 1997) o metodológicos (p. e. Gilman y Thornes 1985; Gilman 2003), sino a la abundancia de propuestas que se pueden aplicar a múltiples temas y que aparecen en casi todos sus trabajos, desde monografías a artículos, o incluso recensiones. Por ello su influencia se ha extendido a áreas y períodos de la prehistoria ibérica que Antonio no ha llegado a trabajar de manera directa. Este impacto en zonas allende sus áreas de trabajo se ha dado, desde nuestra perspectiva, a través de dos de sus aportaciones principales. Por un lado, su contribución a situar el materialismo histórico como una de las corrientes teóricas que más incidencia ha tenido en la arqueología española durante varias décadas. Por otro, su aportación a la renovación metodológica ocurrida a partir de los años 80, muy especialmente (al menos para nosotros) en los ámbitos del análisis espacial y territorial y de la datación radiocarbónica (como ejemplo de esto último, Uriarte González et al. 2017). La prehistoria reciente del noroeste es un buen ejemplo de estas influencias. Como en casi cualquier otra zona de la Península, la interpretación de esa prehistoria estuvo dominada durante el siglo xx por visiones apegadas a perspectivas inocentemente histórico-culturales, evolucionistas y difusionistas. «Inocentemente» quiere decir que esas perspectivas se adoptaron como algo dado y no a partir de una reflexión teórico-crítica explícita. A partir de los años 80 comenzaron a proponerse nuevas lecturas del registro con base tanto en un incremento en la cantidad y calidad de los datos existentes, como, especialmente, en la incorporación de nuevas perspectivas teóricas que permitieron sacudir con fuerza las inercias acumuladas a lo largo del tiempo. En estas relecturas, hay cuatro ideas importantes que, explícita o implícitamente, no se entenderían sin contextualizarlas en el marco de los cambios del conjunto de la arqueología española de estas últimas décadas e, igualmente, en el marco de ideas que han sido centrales en el trabajo de Gilman y de otros colegas coetáneos. 1. Situar el estudio de la complejidad como un eje central de la interpretación del registro. Esto significa atender a cómo surgen y cómo cambian las formas de complejidad social y de desigualdad a lo largo de la prehistoria reciente y, sobre todo,

a cómo se pueden correlacionar las diferentes formas posibles de complejidad social con la evidencia que ofrece el registro arqueológico. 2. Relativizar la centralidad del Estado dentro de los estudios de la complejidad y la desigualdad en arqueología, explorando modelos alternativos de organización social compleja y desigual que no tengan que ser entendidos necesariamente como formaciones estatales. En este sentido, para nosotros resultaron especialmente útiles la recuperación y profundización en el concepto esbozado por Marx del modo de producción germánico (Gilman 1995), que usamos en su momento como herramienta central en la interpretación de parte de las dinámicas de la Edad del Hierro del noroeste (Parcero-Oubiña 2000, 2003), y la noción de que formas básicas de complejidad se basan en modelos coercitivos que realizan una coacción sistémica sin necesidad de ser formaciones de tipo estatal o análogas; en esto fue muy válida la analogía de Gilman con las bases de poder mafioso para entender formas primarias de desigualdad y explotación sin necesidad de estructuras estatales. 3. Reconocer la relevancia del análisis de las bases materiales de la producción para poder entender cómo y por qué surgen y cambian las formas de complejidad y desigualdad social. En concreto, aquí hay dos puntos especialmente importantes: el análisis de cómo se produce y gestiona el excedente productivo (para lo cual resulta central el estudio de las formas de almacenamiento) y el análisis de la implantación espacial de los asentamientos, la ubicación y extensión de las áreas productivas y la potencialidad productiva de los espacios asociados al asentamiento humano. La necesidad de atender a las bases materiales de las comunidades implicadas se plantea también en la relectura de los procesos de interacción a escala macro-regional (Gilman 1993, 1998), como los que pudieron implicar al noroeste en etapas como el Bronce Final. 4. Reconocer, abundando en lo anterior, la importancia de la gestión del agua y la inversión en inmuebles agrícolas para entender la consolidación y amplificación de estados de desigualdad y explotación. Se podría pensar que en el noroeste atlántico húmedo no tengan mucho sentido ideas que nos remiten al estudio de los Estados hidráulicos (con ecos claros de Wittfogel en Gilman). Estas ideas, siempre presentes en los trabajos que desde hace años realizamos en el Cono Sur americano y, en particular, en Atacama (Parcero-Oubiña et al. 2017), también han influido en nuestros estudios sobre la formación de paisajes agrarios arquitecturados (con sistemas complejos de parcelación del suelo, aterrazamientos), que incluyen caminos y estructuras de manejo del agua, en el caso de Galicia, no tanto para regar y compensar el déficit hídrico sino para aliviar

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su superávit, es decir, para drenar el exceso de agua (Ballesteros-Arias 2003, 2010; Criado-Boado y Ballesteros-Arias 2014), y que están relacionadas con la emergencia y expansión del feudalismo, un tipo específico de Estado. Estas ideas fueron, de una manera u otra, un componente importante en la revisión de la prehistoria del noroeste que se vertebró a partir de los años 90 del siglo pasado. En particular, fueron un elemento influyente en algunos de los trabajos que nosotros produjimos a partir de entonces y que proponían una relectura de, por ejemplo, la Edad del Hierro del noroeste (Parcero-Oubiña 1995, 2002, 2003) o la formación de un paisaje aterrazado en la Edad Media (Ballesteros-Arias, Criado-Boado y Andrade 2006). Más recientemente hemos incorporado estas propuestas en un modelo interpretativo de la larga duración, en el que otros conceptos, como el de los mecanismos de resistencia al cambio, son también muy relevantes (González, Parcero-Oubiña y Ayán 2011; Parcero-Oubiña y Criado-Boado 2013, Armada 2013; Criado-Boado 2014; Criado-Boado et al. 2016). En este texto lo que haremos, como tributo a Antonio, será una revisión crítica de este modelo, que plantearemos desde dos puntos de vista complementarios. Por un lado, revisaremos cómo la incorporación de nuevos datos permite reformular las ideas que ese modelo propone. Por otro lado, introduciremos algunos puntos de vista teóricos o conceptuales diferentes que permitan también reforzarlo o matizarlo. Para ello, después de esta introducción comenzaremos por presentar, en el siguiente apartado, una síntesis de esa visión interpretativa del cambio social en la larga duración de la prehistoria del noroeste, que resume ideas desarrolladas con más detalle en los trabajos citados. A continuación, propondremos una revisión crítica de algunos aspectos de ese modelo y algunas posibles líneas de desarrollo para el futuro. 8.2. ENTRE LA DIVISIÓN Y LA INDIVISIÓN SOCIAL Lo que sigue, pues, tiene que ver con el cambio social en la larga duración. Un simple vistazo a los dos extremos del intervalo que analizaremos (el Neolítico antiguo y la Edad del Hierro final) muestra que el balance final de ese cambio implicó un incremento de la complejidad. Una aproximación posible, y bastante típica, sería caracterizar las diferentes formas de relación social en este tiempo (cómo de complejas son en cada momento), e identificar cómo fue emergiendo esa línea ascendente de complejidad social. Otra aproximación también típica sería centrarnos en los conceptos de cambio y continuidad para caracterizar este largo proceso.

Sin embargo, hemos preferido emplear, de forma expresa, el concepto de resistencia como uno de los argumentos centrales (González-Ruibal 2014; Criado-Boado 2014). La resistencia no es, a diferencia de lo que ocurre con la continuidad, un opuesto del cambio, sino una forma diferente de este. No es la negación del proceso histórico, sino su expresión en términos diferentes. En gran medida, nuestros planteamientos están relacionados con formas recientes de reacción a evolucionismos más o menos lineales, pero siempre teleológicos, que tendían hacia una comprensión del cambio o del incremento de la complejidad en términos positivos (esplendor, clímax, período clásico, etc.). Revisiones recientes han puesto el foco en otras dimensiones del desarrollo de la complejidad. Un efecto de ellas es la reivindicación del papel de los mecanismos de resistencia al desarrollo institucionalizado de formas de poder, como ejemplifican perfectamente la obra de J. Scott (2010, 2017) o el mencionado trabajo de González-Ruibal (2014), entre otros. Otro es el papel de la acción colectiva en el desarrollo o la inhibición de la complejidad, como opuesto al interés «tradicional» centrado exclusiva o principalmente en el papel de los gobernantes (Blanton y Fargher 2008; Stanish 2017). En este contexto general, la aproximación que hemos utilizado antes de ahora se relacionaba directamente con el trabajo pionero de P. Clastres. Sus desarrollos en torno al concepto de sociedades contra el Estado (Clastres 1974, 1981) nos han servido como herramientas para el análisis arqueológico de las formas de poder (Criado-Boado, Aira y Díaz 1986; Criado-Boado 1989; Parcero-Oubiña 2003; González, ParceroOubiña y Ayán 2011; Criado-Boado 2014, véase también González García 2017). Sin embargo, es llamativo que durante años sus propuestas no fueran implementadas realmente en la sociología prehistórica salvo en contadas excepciones (Barrett 1994; Vicent García 1998). En cambio, los conceptos desarrollados por Clastres son centrales en nuestro enfoque. La complejidad ha sido generalmente explorada para entender la emergencia de formas perdurables y exitosas de poder. Entre ellas, la cuestión del origen del Estado es un tema central en la investigación arqueológica, pero también la del origen de otras formas complejas de desigualdad como las jefaturas, por ejemplo. La búsqueda y el análisis de contextos originarios (prístinos) han sido una preocupación central. El sur y el este de Iberia han recibido especial atención en este sentido, por ser los contextos originarios de desarrollo «endógeno» de formas sociales complejas (Chapman 2008; Cruz, García y Gilman 2013). Mientras, en otros lugares el estudio del desarrollo de las desigualdades ha recibido menor atención por diversas razones.

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Entre ellas no es la menor el hecho de asumir que son lugares en los que el poder y la desigualdad se producen de forma secundaria, subsidiaria de esas zonas originarias. La desigualdad llega (o no llega) desde fuera, «llama a la puerta» y se instala de forma natural. De alguna forma, esto reproduce una historia de arriba-abajo, en la que no se concede (de forma expresa o por omisión) un papel demasiado relevante a la gran mayoría de los agentes sociales implicados en ella. Por nuestra parte, proponemos no basarnos en conceptos formalistas como jefatura, estado, etc., sino en dos nociones tomadas de la obra de Clastres: sociedad indivisa y sociedad dividida. Clastres se refiere a estos conceptos generalmente con los términos de sociedad primitiva y Estado. Pero nosotros preferimos utilizar los mencionados porque Estado resulta ambiguo (habitualmente se entiende de otra forma) y porque primitivo tiene tanto implicaciones éticas negativas como un sentido de «lo primigenio» que también resulta confuso. No entendemos ambos conceptos como fases, tipos o estadios de la organización social, sino en un sentido teórico, como conceptualización de procesos o tendencias sociales intrínsecas a toda sociedad humana. Podemos concebirlos de la misma forma que Stein propone considerar el concepto de heterarchy: «is not any single type of social structure but, rather, is a principle or even a perspective on social organization» (Stein 1998: 7). Su utilidad es marcar los dos extremos abstractos de la forma en la cual un grupo humano puede funcionar. En este sentido, otra buena razón para hablar de división e indivisión sociales es evitar dar sustantividad a los conceptos, una tentación en la que es más natural incurrir con conceptos como Estado o primitivismo. Entendida en el sentido más genuinamente clastriano, una sociedad indivisa es aquella en la que no hay una esfera del poder dividida (separada) del cuerpo social mismo. Es importante tener en cuenta que esto no equivale a hablar de sociedad igualitaria (ya que al menos la desigualdad esencial —la de género— está dentro de toda sociedad; pero además pueden existir formas de desigualdad que no impliquen división social), y que, como ya dijimos, no se corresponde con una fase originaria de la sociedad, sino con un estadio teórico. Por oposición, una sociedad dividida es aquella cruzada por divisiones que establecen esferas especializadas de acción separadas de la sociedad misma. A partir de aquí, lo que proponemos hacer es definir qué factores son los que pueden desplegar y ampliar la división dentro de un cuerpo social, o alargar la indivisión. La tesis que desarrollamos es que toda sociedad presenta pulsiones estructurales hacia la indivisión y la división. La forma como se negocian y equilibran esas pulsiones dan lugar a formas específicas de complejidad y a tra-

yectorias diferenciadas hacia la sociedad dividida y, en algunos casos, el Estado; incluso a formas de Estado diferentes. Esa riqueza de fenomenologías ocasiona una dinámica de ciclos sucesivos en las que la tendencia hacia la división desencadena una complejidad creciente, si bien amortiguada, en algunos momentos, por acciones de resistencia (tendencia hacia la indivisión) que redirigen la sociedad a un nivel de menor complejidad (ver discusión en Criado-Boado 2012: 320 y ss., fig. 53). Cada ciclo está determinado por tensiones entre indivisión y división dentro de una variedad de indicadores o fenómenos específicos (intensificación de la producción, extracción de excedente, guerra, circulación de bienes de prestigio, monumentalidad funeraria, ceremonialismo, etc.), de tal modo que esas tendencias cíclicas se registran empíricamente porque se han materializado en ciclos de ocultación-visibilización-monumentalización de los indicadores arqueológicos. La recuperación del equilibrio «primitivo» (entendido como el predominio de la indivisión) suele corresponder con momentos de mayor invisibilidad del registro, incluso de aparente vacío arqueológico. Este planteamiento abre interesantes perspectivas que permiten enfocar de forma distinta lo que ahora llamamos resiliencia y permiten establecer una correspondencia entre la sociología prehistórica y los procesos de materialización que se pueden estudiar arqueológicamente. Aunque la brevedad de este texto no nos permite extendernos en ello, esta correspondencia permitiría correlacionar los mecanismos de resistencia/división con los estilos materiales, los procesos de formalización, las estrategias de construcción del paisaje o las formas de racionalidad cultural. Recientemente hemos podido ver cómo incluso los procesos cognitivos vinculados a cada tipo de estilo material, y a sus diferentes contextos sociales, se podrían correlacionar con esa correspondencia (Criado-Boado et al. 2019). El problema de investigación es, entonces, de qué manera concreta se podría encarar este problema a través del registro arqueológico. Y nuestra respuesta es hacerlo tomando de forma casi literal la propia idea de la división social: para que esta exista dentro de un grupo, han de existir otros agentes diferentes al propio grupo. Puesto en términos sociológicos, la cuestión podría expresarse como la dialéctica entre la comunidad (el grupo como conjunto) en un extremo, el individuo en el otro, y entre medias las diferentes formas posibles de fragmentación o segmentación de la comunidad, entre las que tienen especial importancia las basadas en el parentesco (linajes domésticos). La forma en la que los diferentes agentes se representen a través del registro arqueológico nos servirá como base para nuestra argumentación.

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Estos agentes participan de procesos de división y de procesos de resistencia. Los primeros son aquellos que tienden a extender la división dentro de una sociedad, y a la postre provocan la disolución de la sociedad indivisa. Por su parte, los procesos de resistencia son aquellos que se resisten a los anteriores y amortizan, inhiben o minimizan la división. Pero, como decíamos al inicio, la resistencia no es el no-cambio; la resistencia son también procesos activos —menos que la rebelión, pero más que la resiliencia, cf. González-Ruibal (2014)—. Mucho de lo que funciona como forma de resistencia puede funcionar también como mecanismo de disolución (y viceversa) porque gatilla o estimula un mecanismo paralelo de reconocimiento o ampliación de la división social. Por ejemplo, el consumo festivo o ceremonial del excedente por una parte conjura el riesgo de división al empobrecer a los agentes más dinámicos y repartir el plus producido entre todos. Pero, al mismo tiempo, desata un proceso de competencia y emulación social que incentiva la producción y acumulación de excedente y que, como tal, es una condición esencial para la consolidación de relaciones de desigualdad (Hayden 2014). Así las cosas, la guerra, los potlatch, el consumo suntuario, el asesinato del jefe, etc. (es decir, todas las prácticas que permiten reequilibrar una sociedad y reintroducir en ella una cierta sensación de igualitarismo) son ejemplos de mecanismos de resistencia que pretenden conjurar la división o al menos limitar su generalización, ampliación o extensión, aunque en-sí o de-sí ya contengan a esta. Vamos a aplicar estos planteamientos y conceptos al estudio de la dinámica social de la larga duración de una zona concreta, la prehistoria reciente en el noreste de la Península Ibérica.

Figura 8.1.  Localización del área de estudio en la Península Ibérica.

Presentaremos primero los rasgos generales del registro arqueológico de este caso de estudio, y luego recuperaremos y actualizaremos la narrativa que propusimos hace unos años para interpretarlos. Lógicamente, este trabajo presenta una escala temporal, espacial y social muy amplia, y por tanto ofrece un panorama genérico y generalizador de lo que sin duda fueron dinámicas heterogéneas en el tiempo y el espacio. Precisamente este punto será una de las cuestiones principales que retomaremos en el balance crítico que hacemos en la sección final. 8.3. EL NOROESTE DE IBERIA ENTRE CA. 4500 Y LA CONQUISTA ROMANA El área cuyo registro arqueológico emplearemos como caso de estudio es el noroeste de la Península Ibérica. El conocimiento actual de su registro arqueológico es desigual. Como en cualquier otro lugar, este conocimiento se ha beneficiado de un notable incremento en cantidad y variedad en los últimos años gracias al auge de la arqueología comercial, que varios trabajos de síntesis han empezado a sistematizar para diferentes períodos (Teira Brión y Abad Vidal 2012; Currás 2019; González Insua 2017). Igualmente, la apertura de líneas de investigación antes poco exploradas está permitiendo incorporar nuevas dimensiones a la comprensión de estos períodos, como ocurre por ejemplo con la arqueobotánica y disciplinas afines (Tereso, RamilRego y Almeida-da-Silva 2013; Tereso et al. 2016; Peña-Chocarro et al. 2017; Mora-González et al. 2018), el paleoambiente y la paleocontaminación (Kaal et al. 2011; Pontevedra-Pombal et al. 2013; Silva-Sánchez, Martínez y López 2014; MartínezCortizas et al. 2016) o la arqueometría (Armada y García-Vuelta 2018). Las intervenciones y los enfoques más recientes han permitido llenar algunos vacíos en el conocimiento del registro, modificar preconcepciones asumidas antes de ahora o reafirmar otras. Esta región ha sido considerada tradicionalmente como arqueológicamente pobre o simple, en especial por comparación con el desarrollo más monumental y complejo de otras áreas de Iberia, como el mediterráneo o el sur (Parcero-Oubiña, Armada y Ayán 2017). Frente a un notable y bien conocido desarrollo de elementos como la arquitectura megalítica o el arte rupestre, la ausencia generalizada de restos orgánicos limita bastante el conocimiento de una parte importante del registro. En esta zona se está caracterizando, cada vez con mejor precisión, una interesante variabilidad intrarregional en las formas del registro arqueológico, y en algunos casos también de los procesos sociales vinculados con ellas (González-Ruibal 2011; González Insua 2017; Rodríguez, Vázquez y

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Fábregas 2018; Carrero-Pazos 2019). Sin embargo, aquí consideraremos la región (el noroeste peninsular) de forma global, manteniendo el esquema que desarrollamos en publicaciones anteriores y que resumiremos a continuación, para después revisarlo de forma crítica. En cualquier caso, y como argumentamos en otras ocasiones, en la escala del análisis que realizaremos existe un rasgo importante común a toda la región que justifica un tratamiento conjunto: no se desarrolla aquí un nivel de complejidad de tipo estatal hasta época muy tardía, en concreto hasta la conquista romana (completada poco antes del cambio de era) (Currás y Sastre 2020). Esto hace que sea un espacio especialmente atractivo para analizar un proceso en el que las dinámicas sociales han operado de manera exitosa para inhibir o limitar el desarrollo de formas extremadamente complejas de organización social en la larga duración. Estas características subrayan el interés que, más allá del caso de estudio mismo, puede tener el análisis de estos problemas en una zona como esta. Por un lado, se trata de un área similar a muchas otras regiones «periféricas» del occidente europeo. Lo mismo ocurre con su registro arqueológico, pues no es un espacio en el que se hayan desarrollado formas de materialidad excepcionales e inéditas. En este sentido, tiene la representatividad de «lo estándar». Y, al tiempo, es un espacio situado en un límite ecocultural muy claro dentro de la Europa occidental y atlántica, pues es a la vez «el sur del norte» y «el norte del sur», en una ubicación intermedia entre la Europa húmeda septentrional y la Europa seca ibérica y mediterránea. Estos factores hacen que su consideración pueda ser interesante como caso de estudio representativo de algo más que de sí mismo. A continuación presentaremos los rasgos más característicos del registro arqueológico en esta zona para un período amplio que comienza con el desarrollo de las primeras sociedades productoras y termina en el umbral de la incorporación a la estructura imperial romana. Esta presentación será necesariamente breve y parcial. Un trabajo comarcal que ejemplifica bien esta secuencia es el realizado en la península de Morrazo (Criado-Boado et al. 2006). Emplearemos bloques temporales que, lógicamente, han de entenderse desde esa misma perspectiva sintética y genérica. No pretendemos hacer una caracterización completa ni detallada del mismo. Tampoco, como ya dijimos, dar cuenta ahora de las diferencias relativas entre diferentes zonas de esta región. Nuestra finalidad es presentar las bases empíricas que nos permitan construir una narrativa sobre las tendencias genéricas de transformación social en esta amplia zona y este largo tiempo y que, más adelante, revisaremos de manera crítica.

8.3.1. Antes del 4500 a.C. El registro disponible para los contextos anteriores al megalitismo es muy escaso. Ni las formas de asentamiento ni las de enterramiento han dejado restos amplios o monumentales (CriadoBoado et al. 2016). Entre 5000 y 4500 hay una generalización de los incendios forestales que han sido reconocidos como de origen antrópico (Kaal et al. 2011); dado que acaecen en un momento anterior a la extensión de la agricultura, debemos entenderlos como actividades inducidas para abrir el bosque y favorecer la reproducción del stock de caza y, eventualmente, la realización de estrategias complejas de caza (prepastoriles), como las que se documentan entre grupos cazadores-recolectores complejos del mesolítico (López-Merino, Martínez y López-Sáez 2010). A partir de ca. 4500 se empieza a detectar la primera presencia de polen de cereal, indicativa de una primera economía productora. 8.3.2. 4500-2700 a.C. El desarrollo de la arquitectura funeraria megalítica es el rasgo más característico. Similar a la de otras regiones de la fachada atlántica europea, es una arquitectura monumental que sería empleada como enterramiento colectivo. Se acompaña de un creciente impacto humano en el entorno, con inicios de procesos acusados de deforestación y erosión del suelo (MartínezCortizas, Costa-Casais y López-Sáez 2009; SilvaSánchez, Martínez y López 2014). Estos indicadores se corresponden con la extensión de la economía productora, que estaría basada en una agricultura de roza concentrada en las zonas elevadas, zonas de suelos ligeros y fáciles de trabajar con tecnología de azada y sin ningún tipo de abonado. La generalización de la economía productora —aun cuando el aprovechamiento de los recursos silvestres siguió siendo seguramente dominante— coincide con el inicio del megalitismo (los monumentos más antiguos se remontan al 4400) (López-Merino, Martínez y López-Sáez 2010); no es posible precisar si ambos fenómenos acaecen simultáneamente o uno de ellos anticipa ligeramente al otro (Prieto Martínez et al. 2012). En contraste con la abundancia de enterramientos, los asentamientos son más escasos, peor conocidos y de pequeña entidad. Se distribuyen por zonas altas y bajas, lo que sugiere una movilidad habitual para estas comunidades (González Insua 2017). No se documentan asentamientos extensos que sirvan para acoger grupos de un tamaño medio o grande; la impresión es que los asentamientos se limitan a campamentos temporales de unidades familiares, salvo alguna excepción que parece sugerir una cierta mayor

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estabilidad, como es el caso de As Cruces/Reborica en Aranga (A Coruña) (Bonilla Rodríguez 2011) o las estructuras de delimitación (zanjas) de A Gándara (Gándaras de Budiño, Pontevedra) (Lima Olivera y Prieto Martínez 2000). Pese al aumento de la presión sobre el medio, indicativa de un incremento productivo, no hay evidencias de estructuras de almacenamiento importantes; el silo de Monte dos Remedios (O Morrazo) es un ejemplo excepcional pero con ciertas dudas acerca de su cronología dentro de este poblado de larga duración, que también tendría una zanja de delimitación (Bonilla, César y Fábregas 2006). En todo caso, la mayor parte de los sitios conocidos se corresponden con pequeñas áreas de asentamiento describibles como campamentos (González Insua 2017). La cultura material consiste esencialmente en elementos de uso doméstico y productivo; no posee especial monumentalidad o vistosidad. Los objetos en los que se ha invertido más trabajo o materiales más escasos o valiosos se localizan típicamente en contextos funerarios, amortizados y a menudo sin haber sido usados previamente. No obstante, con un análisis de mayor detalle, se podrían marcar dinámicas específicas dentro del megalitismo (Prieto Martínez et al. 2012). 8.3.3. 2700-2200 a.C. En este intervalo se registran una serie de cambios en una línea similar a lo que en otras áreas de la Península se define como Calcolítico, aunque a una escala y con una significación diferentes: cierre de las grandes cámaras, finalización del megalitismo, aparición de recintos ceremoniales, surgimiento de poblados con mayor estabilidad y extensión y nuevos materiales y estilos. Las comunidades alcanzan un mayor grado de estabilidad en el paisaje, concretada en la aparición ahora frecuente de fondos de cabaña, como en Chan das Pozas (Campo Lameiro, Pontevedra) (Bonilla Rodríguez y César Vila 2013; Méndez Fernández y López Alonso 2013) o Lamas de Abade (Santiago de Compostela) (González Insua 2017). En algunos casos se habrían desarrollado grandes aldeas, concentraciones de población hasta ahora no vistas, como el caso de Os Remedios en O Morrazo (Fábregas, Bonilla y César 2007). Aunque no son comparables a los grandes sitios de otras zonas de la Península, poblados con superficies en torno a 1 o 2 ha, o incluso más, no se volverán a documentar en esta región hasta los siglos más inmediatos a la conquista romana; son claramente el espacio de asentamiento de unidades suprafamiliares. Estos poblados aparecen a menudo claramente delimitados por sistemas de fosos y/o empalizadas. Al interior, se distribuyen cabañas multifuncio-

nales de superficie también amplia para los estándares de esta región. La localización de fosas excavadas y de grandes recipientes cerámicos indica la aparición de formas de acumulación nuevas. Todo ello coincide con un cambio locacional que hace que estas aldeas se sitúen preferentemente en conexión con tierras bajas que ahora, después de los procesos erosivos iniciados antes, incorporan «áreas de relieve suave […] aptas para actividades humanas como la agricultura, debido a su mayor profundidad de suelo y a la disponibilidad de humedad y nutrientes» (Martínez-Cortizas et al. 2009: 85). La intensidad del sistema productivo es, pues, mucho más elevada. De hecho, se ha propuesto la posibilidad de que, al menos en algunas zonas, se desarrollasen formas complejas de ocupación del espacio, con sitios en altura complementando los asentamientos en zonas más bajas, «dentro de un contexto de creciente rivalidad intergrupal por el control de ciertos recursos» (Gorgoso, Fábregas y Acuña 2011: 126). Estos sitios en altura son relativamente escasos en Galicia, pero más abundantes en el norte de Portugal (Jorge et al. 2005). La variedad y complejidad de la cultura material también se incrementan. Destaca la aparición de materiales no locales y de algunos tipos «estándar» con amplia distribución espacial, como la cerámica de estilo Penha (Prieto Martínez 2001). También se alcanza un notable perfeccionamiento tecnológico en la producción de objetos líticos, entre los que destacan por su frecuencia las puntas de flecha (Rodríguez Rellán y Fábregas Valcarce 2011). Al final del período aparece la cerámica campaniforme de estilo internacional y otras variedades. Aunque es posible que se mantengan formas de enterramiento en túmulos, los grandes monumentos megalíticos son abandonados. El inicio de este momento registra el cierre de las grandes cámaras, bloqueando sus accesos, a veces mediante acciones de destrucción que involucran incendios y desmantelamiento de sus corazas. Como principal novedad se registra la aparición de enterramientos individuales con conjuntos de objetos «personalizados», poco estandarizados. Al mismo tiempo surge una nueva forma de monumentalidad: recintos circulares delimitados por fosos y estructuras emergentes que habrían funcionado como espacios de tipo ceremonial, como por ejemplo Montenegro en O Morrazo (Pontevedra) (Gianotti et al. 2011). González Insua recoge hasta 10 posibles casos, todos ellos documentados en excavaciones de urgencia; aunque con la incertidumbre derivada bien de la escasez de datos, bien de la existencia de ocupaciones largas o múltiples, la mayor parte de ellos serían adscribibles a este momento y tipo (González Insua 2017).

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8.3.4. 2200-1200 a.C. Algunos autores han caracterizado este período como una «edad oscura» (p. e. Fábregas Valcarce y Bradley 1995), definición que resulta ilustrativa de la menor visibilidad y variedad del registro arqueológico conocido. Los asentamientos son ahora diferentes de dos maneras: por su forma y localización. Las zonas preferentemente ocupadas ahora son de nuevo tierras altas, espacios a menudo coincidentes con la localización de los túmulos megalíticos anteriores. Se trata de lugares más adecuados para una agricultura extensiva y para el pastoreo, lo que es coherente con un sistema productivo que habría dado mayor peso a la ganadería. Esto ocasiona un descenso en la intensidad de los efectos de la acción humana sobre el entorno, visible por ejemplo en un «impacto reducido del fuego y de la ganadería» (Kaal et al. 2011). En estas zonas elevadas los poblados adoptan un patrón recurrente que se definió hace ya tiempo como «áreas de acumulación» (Méndez Fernández 1994): extensos conjuntos de estructuras que responden a una estratigrafía horizontal fruto de la reocupación periódica de un mismo lugar por comunidades de tamaño reducido. Se componen de estructuras de materiales perecederos, poco visibles y perdurables. Es característico de este momento la regular vinculación de los asentamientos a pequeñas cuencas húmedas, conocidas como «brañas», zonas de drenaje impedido y pequeñas turberas, que habrían funcionado como áreas de reserva de pasto fresco estacional para el ganado. Este mismo tipo de cuencas son los espacios en los que, de forma prioritaria, se concentra el desarrollo de un importante arte rupestre que, entre otras posibles funciones, opera como modo de apropiación territorial (Bradley, Criado-Boado y Fábregas 1995). Tradicionalmente la cronología de la mayor parte del arte rupestre gallego se ha ubicado en este período, aunque este tema ha sido especialmente controvertido. En los últimos años se ha propuesto con nuevos datos la hipótesis de «cronología larga» en la que diferentes horizontes y estilos de arte rupestre al aire libre se habrían extendido desde el 4000 al 400, correspondiendo una buena parte de él a este segundo milenio BC (Santos Estévez 2017). Cualquiera de las formas de arquitectura monumental o ceremonial anteriormente existentes desaparecen en este momento. En cambio, se desarrollan nuevas formas de enterramiento, entre las cuales las más características serán las cistas (Bettencourt 2008, 2010). Poco o nada monumentales, ni por dimensiones ni por visibilidad en el paisaje (simplemente enterradas o a lo sumo con un pequeño túmulo), son la primera forma clara de enterramiento individual.

La cultura material documentada en los asentamientos es típicamente doméstica y poco variada y compleja. Solo el campaniforme, que tiene una larga perduración cronológica, destaca como materialidad conspicua y esmerada, hecha en gran medida para ser vista (Prieto Martínez 2013; Criado-Boado et al. 2019). Es solo en los enterramientos o en depósitos, amortizada y fuera de circulación, donde se encuentran muestras de objetos más singulares o complejos (armas de bronce, adornos personales o joyas de oro y plata). A lo largo del segundo milenio se generaliza la metalurgia del bronce. Las hachas de filo desarrollado, cuyo mejor exponente lo constituyen los tipos Bujões-Barcelos, muestran generalmente aleaciones bien conseguidas (ca. 90 % Cu - 10 % Sn); aunque su distribución abarca sobre todo la zona meridional de este ámbito (norte de Portugal y provincia de Pontevedra), hallazgos recientes muestran también su presencia en el norte de Galicia. La entrada en juego de un recurso como el estaño, abundante en el noroeste, habría constituido, según algunos autores, un incentivo para la inserción de este ámbito en redes a larga distancia. 8.3.5. 1200-800 a.C. Sin negar la existencia de divergencias regionales antes de ahora, es a partir de este momento cuando se documentan con mayor claridad disparidades importantes en el registro a lo largo del noroeste peninsular. Una de las novedades más relevantes es la aparición, hacia el sur y más bien en la orla costera, de un tipo característico de asentamiento conocido como campos de fosas, de naturaleza abierta y localizado en las proximidades del fondo de los valles. Presentan estructuras perecederas (agujeros de poste y trincheras), entre las que destacan grandes fosas de almacenamiento relacionadas con evidencias significativas de procesos agrícolas (como molinos) (Lima Olivera 2002). Estas fosas, cuya capacidad puede superar los 2 m3, son el elemento más representativo del período en aquellas zonas en las que este tipo de sitios se han documentado. En contraste, los espacios de habitación, tanto en este mismo tipo de sitios como en aquellas áreas donde no se documentan grandes fosas, son menos conocidos, debido sin duda a su naturaleza perecedera y nula monumentalidad. Al mismo tiempo, y de nuevo en algunas zonas concretas en general coincidentes con las antes mencionadas, se documenta de manera más o menos frecuente la existencia de asentamientos en altura, ocupando posiciones muy dominantes en el paisaje. En este momento se

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trata de sitios no fortificados artificialmente, aparte de las propias condiciones defensivas de los emplazamientos que ocupan (Bettencourt 2013). Otra característica de este período es el fuerte incremento de la actividad metalúrgica y de la amortización de objetos metálicos. A partir de la cuantificación de las hachas, Comendador Rey (1999) calculó que la producción del Bronce Final representa el 90 % del total estimado para toda la Edad del Bronce. No obstante, conviene matizar que muchos de estos depósitos de hachas, en ocasiones con altos contenidos de plomo, se sitúan ya en las postrimerías del Bronce Final y en la primera Edad del Hierro. Por otro lado, el registro muestra nuevamente divergencias regionales relevantes, siendo las áreas meridionales las más prolíficas en hallazgos y aparentemente las más abiertas a influencias externas. Los estudios paleoambientales detectan un notable impacto de la contaminación por actividades minero-metalúrgicas en estos momentos (Pontevedra-Pombal et al. 2013, Martínez-Cortizas et al. 2016). Sin embargo, los estudios que venimos realizando mediante isótopos de plomo (un avance en Montero-Ruiz, García-Vuelta y Armada 2014) muestran que buena parte de las hachas de talón del noroeste podrían haber sido elaboradas con metal procedente del ámbito meridional, concretamente de Linares (Jaén) (mineralizaciones de cobre y plomo) y Gádor (Almería) (mineralizaciones de plomo). La amortización de metales en forma de depósitos aislados, común a amplias áreas del continente europeo, constituye un fenómeno de compleja interpretación, pero en todo caso supone la retirada de la circulación de un elemento valioso y contribuye a amortiguar las tendencias hacia la división social. 8.3.6. 800-400 a.C. A partir del 800 se generalizan un conjunto de novedades en el registro material. Algunas de ellas habrían ido surgiendo un poco antes, pero será en este tiempo cuando se hagan extensas y visibles. Entre ellas la más evidente es el desarrollo del castro como forma de asentamiento, fortificado, completamente nueva en esta área. Se trata, además, de la primera forma de asentamiento permanente, no móvil, en esta región. La expansión de estos castros va de la mano de otras dos novedades: la desaparición de cualquier otra forma distinta de asentamiento y de enterramientos reconocibles. El patrón de asentamiento de este período se caracteriza por la fragmentación y aislamiento, con una marcada proliferación de pequeños castros, raramente más grandes de 1 ha, dispersos por gran parte del territorio. Esto

se subraya con la selección de emplazamientos prominentes, de difícil accesibilidad y en los que prevalecen criterios defensivos. Por primera vez en esta zona, la selección locacional es remarcada por la inversión de trabajo social en la construcción de estructuras defensivas, muy eficaces pero no necesariamente monumentales (Carballo Arceo 1990; Parcero-Oubiña 2000, 2002). En lo que se refiere al uso del suelo, las evidencias disponibles apuntan hacia un sistema productivo más diversificado y fructífero, gracias a la expansión del cultivo de un cereal de verano (mijo) que, compaginado con el trigo, la cebada y el centeno, permitiría disponer de cosechas a lo largo de todo el año (Tereso, Ramil-Rego y Almeida-da-Silva 2013). Por otro lado, en el entorno de los asentamientos predominan los suelos ligeros, supeditados a riesgo de fuerte erosión en caso de soportar un aprovechamiento permanente. Esto coincide bien con la desaparición de las fosas de almacenamiento, lo que apunta a un decremento del excedente que podría ser almacenado (Ayán Vila y Parcero Oubiña 2009). Los asentamientos se organizan internamente en unidades domésticas que, como los propios castros, son más sólidas, fijas y estables que antes (gracias a la utilización de la piedra). Arquitectónicamente son muy simples y homogéneas, limitándose a construcciones circulares que carecen de divisiones internas o de estructuras complementarias (Ayán Vila 2013). El descubrimiento frecuente de restos de producción metalúrgica (crisoles, escorias, etc.) dispersos en el interior de los poblados es indicativo de una actividad descentralizada y de pequeña escala. Entre las cabañas hay áreas abiertas y, en algunos casos, construcciones mayores en posición central, lo que sugiere un uso colectivo de las mismas (Villa Valdés 2003). La cultura material atestigua cambios significativos. Los grandes depósitos de hachas, a menudo sin utilizar (as-cast) y con aleaciones poco funcionales (altos contenidos de plomo), se pueden situar en este momento, un fenómeno que cuenta con paralelos en otras áreas de la Europa atlántica como Bretaña y el sur de Inglaterra (Roberts et al. 2015). Los pequeños objetos de ornamento personal, como pendientes y broches, son frecuentes entre los ítems de intercambio. Es relevante la escasez de objetos de oro que, sin embargo, volverán a ser característicos del área en la etapa final de la Edad del Hierro (González Ruibal 2006; Armada y García-Vuelta 2018; Armada, García-Vuelta y Seoane-Novo 2018). Una vez más, este fenómeno es análogo al que encontramos en otras regiones atlánticas, en las que incluso se propone la desaparición de los metales preciosos del registro entre los siglos viii y iii (Garrow y Gosden 2012).

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8.3.7. 400-200 a.C. Los castros continúan siendo la única forma de asentamiento en este momento, aunque se registran una serie de cambios a muchos niveles. El poblamiento sigue basado en pequeñas aldeas, que ahora van a localizarse en contextos agrícolas mucho más productivos; se expande el espacio ocupado con el asentamiento de castros en las tierras bajas y fondos de valle, algo que no había ocurrido hasta ahora (Parcero-Oubiña 2000, una visión contrapuesta en Currás 2014). La intensificación agraria es visible tanto en una mayor presión sobre el medio como en el desarrollo de infraestructuras para el almacenamiento muy perdurables y evidentes (Ayán Vila y Parcero Oubiña 2009). Cada linaje doméstico constituye una unidad arquitectónica bien definida dentro de los poblados, compuesta por varios espacios agregados entre los que se encuentran almacenes propios. Todos estos espacios se construyen con arquitecturas emergentes y perdurables, con un uso generalizado de la piedra (Ayán Vila 2013). Al menos en algunos poblados hay evidencia de que algunas funciones productivas se especializan, como la producción metalúrgica, que cuenta con espacios propios (Fernández-Posse y Sánchez-Palencia 1998). La estructura interna de los poblados se fragmenta acusadamente entre las diferentes casas. La privacidad de cada casa se acentúa, no se comparten zonas de acceso ni ámbitos de visibilidad desde las entradas. El espacio abierto entre casas se reduce mucho. Desaparecen las estructuras de uso colectivo conocidas para la fase anterior. Las propias casas ganan en monumentalidad y permanencia pues se construyen enteramente en piedra, al menos en las zonas más meridionales del noroeste. La morfología de los asentamientos cambia; las condiciones defensivas de las localizaciones se hacen menos extremas, y a cambio se desarrollan estructuras artificiales (murallas, rampas, fosos) mucho más complejas, voluminosas y visibles (Parcero-Oubiña 2005). La cultura material se caracteriza por el desarrollo de una variabilidad formal que incluye elementos de uso doméstico junto a objetos de especial calidad. Esto ocurre en la cerámica, donde comienzan a documentarse con asiduidad elementos púnicos importados del Mediterráneo, que son especialmente frecuentes en poblados próximos a la orla litoral (González-Ruibal, Rodríguez y Ayán 2010; García Fernández 2019). También en la cerámica de producción local, que registra un importante incremento en la variabilidad y el desarrollo de algunas formas y decoraciones excepcionalmente ricas, complejas y visibles, en contraste con una mayoría de recipientes más simples (Seoane Novo 2018). Pero también en la

metalurgia, con un nuevo progresivo desarrollo de la orfebrería, siempre en forma de objetos de uso personal (torques y pendientes son típicos y ampliamente distribuidos). 8.3.8. 200 a.C.-0 Varias de las características del registro anterior se mantienen, o se hacen más generalizadas y visibles, pero también se documenta una importante novedad: el desarrollo de grandes asentamientos que, aunque a una escala menor que en otras partes de Europa, se han asimilado al modelo de oppidum (González-Ruibal 2006; Álvarez González et al. 2018). Estos conviven con un poblamiento que sigue siendo en gran medida el de pequeños castros semejantes a los anteriores. Su emergencia coincide con un documentado incremento de los efectos de la acción humana sobre el entorno; en concreto destaca la documentación de un importante nuevo evento de contaminación por metales pesados, que indicaría el inicio de una explotación minera a una escala considerable (Pontevedra-Pombal et al. 2013). La intensidad de este evento se hará todavía mayor a partir del siglo i de la era, tras la conquista romana. El incremento productivo no solo hace viable la formación de esas grandes concentraciones de población, sino que posibilita también un notable desarrollo de la monumentalidad. Los poblados, y especialmente los oppida, desarrollan estructuras defensivas más complejas y escenográficas (Torres-Martínez et al. 2015). Pero también algunos linajes domésticos se singularizan del resto a través de una arquitectura ostentosa que incluye el uso de elementos escultóricos perdurables realizados en piedra (Rodríguez-Corral 2018). En este contexto debe entenderse igualmente el notable incremento de la orfebrería (Armada y García-Vuelta 2018; Armada, García-Vuelta y Seoane-Novo 2018). El flujo de elementos importados, ahora preferentemente itálicos, se incrementa mucho. Entre ellos destaca la importancia de elementos de consumo, especialmente el vino. 8.4. CAMBIOS Y RESISTENCIAS EN LA PREHISTORIA DEL NOROESTE A partir de los planteamientos que resumimos al inicio de este texto y, en concreto, del mecanismo heurístico que correlaciona estructuralmente dentro de los grupos sociales los procesos de división y de indivisión, en su momento propusimos una interpretación del registro resumido en la sección anterior dinamizada por la recurrencia de saltos adelante y atrás y de series cíclicas animadas por las pulsiones hacia y en contra de la

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resistencia al desarrollo de la complejidad (Parcero-Oubiña y Criado-Boado 2013). Esta lectura de la «evolución social» se alejaba de la noción continuista y lineal que fundamentalmente ha predominado en la arqueología, la antropología o la historia. Lo que nos interesaba, e interesa, no es tanto cuándo se identifican las formas obvias del cambio o la explotación social, sino de qué modo y por qué se crean las condiciones de fondo que la posibilitan. En ocasiones, la sociedad se ve abocada a cruzar un umbral que ya no admite vuelta atrás y que genera un momento sociocultural de características totalmente distintas al anterior pero que, a su modo, representará aún un determinado equilibrio entre las tendencias hacia la división o la indivisión. Es importante identificar el umbral que diferencia la adopción de una novedad, a pesar de la cual se mantiene la tendencia general, de una transformación que hace que las cosas pasen a ser completamente distintas. A continuación revisitamos y actualizamos esa visión incorporando las nuevas perspectivas y evidencias hoy disponibles. Antes del 4500, como ocurre en todas las situaciones «mesoneolíticas», se conjura el riesgo de la división a través de un sistema de subsistencia eficaz pero que inhibe la acumulación. La comunidad es el único actor social que existe; la sociedad se mantiene en una situación indivisa (propia de lo que Clastres denominaba «sociedad primitiva»), que no da lugar ni a individuos ni a segmentos sociales diferenciados, ni a una separación del poder respecto al grupo. La forma de individualidad existente en estas sociedades se acomoda enteramente a la definición del grupo (Hernando Gonzalo 2002). Pero no hay que olvidar que, incluso en aquellos contextos sin posiciones de poder diferenciadas y donde la comunidad es el único cuerpo político, la jerarquía de género, por más que pueda ser débil y compleja, sin embargo existe. Aunque la expresión de esta se puede restringir sobre todo a los niveles más simbólicos de la cultura, puede dar lugar a cuestiones tan poco abstractas como las diferencias en la movilidad física involucrada en las tareas propias de hombres y mujeres (Hernando et al. 2011). A partir de 4500 convergen la implementación de una economía productiva de «rendimientos diferidos» (Vicent García 1998) y de la primera arquitectura monumental. El desarrollo de la economía agropastoril introduce uno de los requisitos esenciales para la división social: la dependencia de la tierra (además, se generan excedentes, o al menos se generan las condiciones para que estos puedan existir de manera en general predecible y controlable). Ambas circunstancias promueven la división y hacen que, por primera vez, deban desarrollarse mecanismos

para su amortiguamiento: el consumo de los excedentes en la actividad constructiva monumental, la ritualización de la relación con la tierra y la temporalidad a través de los antepasados operada por el ceremonialismo funerario, la disolución de las identidades individuales que propicia el enterramiento colectivo, y un patrón de subsistencia que impide la conformación de unidades sociales residenciales de tamaño mayor al grupo local. No obstante, habría una variable que escapa a la acción de estos mecanismos: el desarrollo de economías productivas va a acentuar las diferentes formas de interacción con el mundo de hombres y mujeres y, de hecho, sería en este tipo de contextos donde se den las condiciones para que la desigualdad de género adquiera un carácter mucho más profundo y perdurable, como ilustra una amplia variedad de dimensiones del registro arqueológico en otros contextos de la Península (Cintas Peña 2018). De este modo, la comunidad sigue siendo el actor social esencial y, por debajo de las crecientes diferencias de género, predomina una condición de indivisión social, facilitada por el megalitismo entendido como estrategia de resistencia. Mirando al interior de este fenómeno, se reconocen dentro del megalitismo coyunturas de evolución hacia la complejidad, facilitadas por la intensificación de la tecnología y la subsistencia, pero que son disueltas a través de estos mecanismos de resistencia. Esto es lo que pudo dar lugar a que el megalitismo, en vez de ser un evento de actividad constructiva continua, emerja como una sucesión de ciclos de varios siglos de construcción, reutilización y abandono (Tejedor-Rodríguez 2014). A partir de 2700, y por un período corto, el registro muestra cómo la comunidad deja de representarse a través de la arquitectura funeraria, que también deja de ser una forma de consumir el excedente. Por el contrario, surgen asentamientos bastante más extensos y permanentes en el territorio. Se ocupan terrenos de elevada aptitud agrológica y se desarrolla un sistema productivo más intensivo y diversificado. Este proceso de intensificación permite el desarrollo de nuevas formas de materialidad (como la metalurgia), asociadas a elementos de uso individual (joyas, adornos). El vigor de la comunidad es «amenazado» por el desarrollo de nuevas formas de identidad y por la disponibilidad de mayor «riqueza». Una revisión reciente de los asentamientos documentados en esta época sugiere que tal vez la existencia de grandes aldeas no sea algo tan claramente visible en el registro (González Insua 2017), aunque se reconoce que los datos de extensión de los poblados son en ocasiones muy parciales y que la frecuencia y densidad de construcciones dentro de los sitios es bastante mayor que en el período anterior. Lo que sí está claramente documentado es la diversificación de

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las formas de ocupación del espacio, con la aparición de lugares en altura y de varios ejemplos de sitios articulados en torno a zanjas o fosos circulares. Este último tipo de sitio, hasta hace poco prácticamente desconocido en el noroeste, representa una relevante novedad del registro de los últimos años; aunque hasta la fecha su conocimiento y encuadre cronológico sea todavía fragmentario o incompleto, la mencionada síntesis de González Insua recoge al menos 10 posibles ejemplos, algunos mejor definidos que otros: A Fiantosa, A Fontenla, A Pataqueira y Vilamarelle (Palas de Rei, Lugo), A Gandariña (Tomiño, Pontevedra), Casanova (Abadín, Lugo), Lamas de Abade (Santiago, A Coruña), O Castro/A Casilla (Lugo, Lugo), Os Castros y Vilar de Pedrosa (Vilalba, Lugo). Esta diversificación en la ocupación del espacio, especialmente el desarrollo de lugares en altura, se ha interpretado como indicativa de un posible escenario de competitividad por recursos (Gorgoso, Fábregas y Acuña 2011). Alternativa o complementariamente a ello, también es posible entenderlo como parte de mecanismos de resistencia: formas de monumentalidad ceremonial que, siendo menos costosas que los megalitos, implican un tipo de sociabilidad diferente a los enterramientos. Salvando las diferencias de escala, este monumentalismo se podría interpretar de acuerdo con las propuestas planteadas por algunos autores para entender el sentido de los grandes recintos de fosos del Calcolítico peninsular: como agregaciones temporales e inestables de mano de obra en el seno de sociedades segmentarias con tendencia a la fisión social (Díazdel-Río 2003, 2004; Márquez Romero y Jiménez Jáimez 2010); especialmente si, como parece, estas construcciones son más bien resultado de la acumulación de múltiples eventos sucesivos de construcción y uso, probablemente de naturaleza ceremonial (Valera, Silva y Márquez 2014; Aranda Jiménez et al. 2017). En este sentido, ilustrarían el éxito de las estrategias de resistencia implementadas en este momento y el siguiente. En efecto, a la efervescencia anterior sucede, a partir del 2300, una situación caracterizada por la dispersión del poblamiento en numerosos poblados de menor tamaño localizados sobre todo en zonas fáciles de trabajar, pero que solo son agrícolamente aprovechables con una agricultura de tala y quema y tecnología sencilla de azada o arado ligero. Estos terrenos presentan una importante limitación: no soportan el cultivo permanente y se agotan después de 3-4 años de cultivo, recuperando su capacidad solo después de un período de abandono de 8-12 años, durante los cuales pueden ser utilizados para pastoreo y otros usos extensivos. Este patrón de emplazamiento y subsistencia genera un proceso de fisión de las comunidades mayores del momento anterior,

segmentadas ahora en unidades locales seguramente de carácter familiar. En este sentido, el patrón de subsistencia funciona como una estrategia de resistencia a la división porque fuerza la movilidad del asentamiento y la imposibilidad de mantener agrupaciones de gran tamaño, lo que impide la conformación de grandes agrupaciones sociales, según un modelo inicialmente definido por Fidel Méndez hace ya años (Méndez Fernández 1994). Los indicadores arqueológicos muestran, en Galicia como en otras zonas europeas, el surgimiento de un nuevo tipo de individuo diferenciado respecto al grupo, visible desde la irrupción del campaniforme sobre todo en el registro funerario pero también en distintas representaciones rupestres, y representado a través de elementos propios del guerrero, especialmente armas (Bettencourt 2010). Aunque estos datos se han entendido en ocasiones como prueba de un proceso de aristocratización y afianzamiento de la desigualdad social, la promoción del conflicto entre grupos e individuos podría haber desempeñado inicialmente la función contraria, pues son un modo de evitar la consolidación de unidades políticas mayores y de jefaturas permanentes o virulentas. Esta idea es central en las argumentaciones originales de Clastres (1981) y ha servido de inspiración para entender el sentido de formas de conflicto en multitud de contextos arqueológicos donde la guerra, y en particular la prominencia social de la imagen del guerrero, se ha interpretado como parte de un mecanismo en contra de la consolidación de la desigualdad social (p. e. varias de las contribuciones en Nielsen y Walker 2009). El hecho de que durante un milenio (ca. 2300-1200) no hayan cambiado las condiciones sociales ni se haya asistido a procesos de mayor complejidad, subrayarían precisamente el éxito de esta estrategia como mecanismo de resistencia para mantener el énfasis de los valores comunitarios; procesos similares para este mismo momento se han señalado en otras áreas de la Península Ibérica (Aranda Jiménez 2015). Se debe resaltar, por ejemplo, que durante este largo período las estructuras de almacenamiento se limitan a pequeñas fosas y grandes vasijas relacionadas con cada cabaña individual, lo que manifiesta una escasa capacidad de producción de excedente que se habría consumido en el aparato tecnosimbólico (armas y joyas) que acompañan a los primeros guerreros. La situación cambia nítidamente hacia 1200, o al menos lo hace de manera clara en algunas partes del noroeste. En su momento, proponíamos que a partir de esta fecha, aproximadamente, empezarían a detectarse en el registro arqueológico varias novedades que interpretábamos como indicativas de una situación caracterizada por una elevada capacidad de producción

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y acumulación de excedentes y por el desarrollo cada vez más conspicuo de diferencias de riqueza y conflictividad social. En particular, la aparición de grandes estructuras de almacenamiento de gran capacidad e independientes de las casas, agrupadas en conjuntos numerosos, y el progresivo desarrollo de formas de asentamiento en altura, en lugares prominentes y de fácil defensibilidad natural (Bettencourt 2013; Tereso et al. 2016; González Insua 2017). Lo primero implica una elevada capacidad de producción y acumulación de excedentes, derivada sin duda de procesos constantes de intensificación agraria, que son visibles en el registro paleoecológico (Fábregas Valcarce et al. 2003, Kaal et al. 2011). Pero, a diferencia de lo ocurrido siglos atrás, ahora se habría incorporado a la sociedad la aceptación de identidades dentro de ella; en concreto, del individuo guerrero, lo que marcaría una diferencia notable en las posibilidades de ruptura del orden comunitario y la potencial emergencia de agentes con identidad y capacidad de acción propia. También a diferencia de otros momentos, no hay ahora monumentalidad ni doméstica ni funeraria que consuma esos excedentes, que solo son amortizados a través del consumo conspicuo y competitivo y, por lo tanto, son susceptibles de ser apropiados como capital, material o simbólico, por un segmento social concreto (Armada 2013). Todo ello nos llevaba a interpretar este contexto como un importante paso adelante en la ruptura del orden social comunitario y hacia la aparición de formas de desigualdad acentuadas. Sin embargo, esta visión puede ser notablemente matizada, sobre todo en términos de variabilidad regional. La mayor parte de estas manifestaciones materiales de intensificación agraria y diversificación del asentamiento ocurren con claridad en la mitad meridional del noroeste, pero son desconocidas (al menos hasta la fecha) en sectores más septentrionales y del interior. Además, en un reciente trabajo mostramos como, en contraste con esos desarrollos meridionales, hacia el norte y el interior se documentan en este momento elementos de signo contrapuesto, como grandes construcciones tipo long house en los asentamientos o recintos tipo henge, similares a los conocidos para el Neolítico final (Parcero-Oubiña et al. 2020). Igualmente, mostramos que la circulación y deposición de objetos metálicos (de bronce y oro) parece seguir también un patrón geográfico dispar, con una más intensa y abundante presencia en el área meridional y costera. Sería entonces en estas regiones meridionales y costeras donde es aplicable ese modelo de creciente competitividad social, amortiguada únicamente por dos mecanismos: el consumo conspicuo en forma de banquetes y la competencia entre in-

dividuos que podríamos definir como aggrandizers (Hayden y Villeneuve 2010; Hayden 2014), en forma de warrior specialists (González García 2017), en principio limitados en su capacidad de consolidar su posición de manera estructural por lo que Pierre Clastres definió como «la desgracia del guerrero salvaje» (Clastres 1981). En contrapartida, otras partes del noroeste parecen haber seguido caminos diferentes, en los que los mecanismos de resistencia a la división social habrían seguido funcionando, con mejor éxito, en este momento. Es cierto que este tipo de divergencias regionales pueden no ser exclusivas de este momento, pero es ahora cuando, al menos a nuestro modo de ver, se hacen por primera vez evidentes en el registro. La importancia de esta diversidad regional se amplía en adelante. El nuevo impulso hacia la división social, que pudo poner en marcha procesos de afianzamiento de la desigualdad y la explotación, quiebra a partir del 800 de forma muy original y novedosa. Los yacimientos abiertos con grandes estructuras de acumulación son sustituidos por los primeros asentamientos permanentes fortificados, caracterizados por la aparición de murallas pétreas monumentales y la desaparición, en cambio, de las estructuras de almacenamiento. Al mismo tiempo se produce la fijación definitiva de las comunidades a la tierra. Se modifican las formas de explotación del medio y el patrón de asentamiento para diversificar e intensificar el modelo de subsistencia, pero se atenúa la posibilidad de producción de excedentes. Todo ello, especialmente lo relacionado con el cambio en el asentamiento, vuelve a ser mucho más evidente en el área meridional y costera, y el ritmo temporal de surgimiento del poblamiento fortificado parece ilustrar con claridad esta misma divergencia (Parcero-Oubiña et al. 2020). En nuestra lectura de este cambio que supone el surgimiento de la Edad del Hierro sugeríamos que, de nuevo, tenemos aquí un ejemplo de cómo la guerra y el conflicto sirven para mantener los valores comunitarios y funcionan como estrategia de resistencia a la división. La generalización del enfrentamiento entre grupos conduce a un reforzamiento de la identidad comunitaria de cada uno de ellos e imposibilita la creación de agrupaciones y, por lo tanto, de estructuras de dominación y poder más amplias. De este modo, la fortificación, que como actividad constructiva de carácter monumental implica además el consumo de recursos en grandes proporciones, es simultáneamente un proceso y una forma que refuerza los valores comunitarios frente a la división social y remarca el papel esencial del conflicto entre grupos para la identidad de cada uno de ellos. En efecto, dentro de cada comunidad, las unidades domésticas son equivalentes entre sí

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en términos arquitectónicos y funcionales (habitación, producción de alimentos, producción metalúrgica). Esto, junto con la existencia y desarrollo de grandes escenarios comunitarios dentro del poblado constituidos por espacios comunes y estructuras centrales, subraya el predominio del grupo sobre las familias e individuos que lo conforman. El equilibrio entre ajenos-comunidadindividuos, roto en beneficio de cada comunidad local, muestra nuevamente el éxito de la guerra como estrategia de resistencia a la ampliación de la división. Sin embargo, de nuevo vemos, cada vez con más claridad, cómo estos procesos son mucho más evidentes en algunas partes que en otras y cómo cada vez podemos afinar mejor la variabilidad de los procesos sociales dentro de amplias zonas, igual que en otras regiones de la Península (Gomes y Arruda 2019). De nuevo es en el sur y hacia la costa donde, por ejemplo, el poblamiento fortificado emerge no solo con mucha más antelación y visibilidad (Jordá Pardo et al. 2009), sino incluso de manera casi exclusiva: hasta la fecha amplias regiones del interior apenas cuentan con sitios fortificados datables antes del siglo v a.C., algo que nos ha llevado a preguntarnos por la pertinencia de hablar de una primera Edad del Hierro, entendida como reacción en contra de la consolidación de la desigualdad social, en algunas partes del noroeste (Parcero-Oubiña et al. 2020). Una parte importante de esta «solución» será la paulatina visibilidad de identidades diversas dentro de las comunidades, que van ganando fuerza (esencialmente los linajes domésticos). Esto se hará mucho más evidente a partir del 400, cuando comiencen a constituir la forma esencial de organización del espacio habitacional. Los mecanismos antes empleados para inhibir la división social comienzan a actuar en sentido contrario, cuando los cambios en el paisaje productivo indican una nueva intensificación, que permitirá de nuevo generar excedentes (Tereso, Ramil-Rego y Almeida-da-Silva 2013). Más allá de las necesidades de protección del espacio habitado, los asentamientos se dotan de complejos defensivos monumentales, que simultáneamente habrían operado como elementos de control, circunscripción y fijación de la población. Sin embargo, la inversión de trabajo en la construcción de defensas en poblados que no ocupan posiciones claramente prominentes o defendibles indica un posible cambio en su función (Parcero-Oubiña 2005). La exigencia de fortificación de unas comunidades ya fragmentadas al interior se ha interpretado como susceptible de ser beneficiada (e incluso creada) por una minoría social que, así, justifica ideológicamente la necesidad de su existencia, controla a las unidades que sostienen su posición y afianza su razón de ser en un estado

real o ficticio de amenaza. Así, este dispositivo, que había servido para amortiguar la amenaza de división, se convierte en la herramienta que permite consolidarla (Parcero-Oubiña 2003). Pero, una vez más, es posible ver cómo este proceso, que pudo haberse desarrollado así en algunas zonas, también pudo haber sido bien distinto en otras. El surgimiento de esto que en su momento llamamos sociedades heroicas es tal vez solo una de las posibles vías de cambio de las comunidades del noroeste en la Edad del Hierro. Junto a ellas, González Ruibal propone que en otras regiones se habrían consolidado formas de desigualdad aún más acusadas (en forma de sociedades de casa), mientras que en amplios sectores los mecanismos de resistencia habrían seguido funcionando con éxito (en forma de sociedades rurales profundas) (González-Ruibal 2006, 2011). Aunque otros autores vienen sugiriendo que este éxito de la resistencia a la complejidad habría funcionado en todo el noroeste a lo largo de toda la Edad del Hierro (Currás y Sastre 2020), el panorama que muestra el registro parece apuntar mejor a una situación más heterogénea, algo que también es coherente con el trasfondo histórico de las diferentes zonas de la región, como hemos descrito. Es a partir de ese momento cuando todos los elementos necesarios para hacer aceptable la división social definitiva se hacen visibles. A partir del 200 todo ello cristaliza en un contexto social definitivamente complejo aunque, de nuevo, más en unas zonas que en otras y no en todo el noroeste (González-Ruibal 2011). En él las representaciones de los segmentos sociales dominantes van a adoptar la forma e identidad del guerrero dentro de un escenario de hibridación (Armada, García-Vuelta y Seoane-Novo 2018; Rodríguez-Corral 2018), invirtiendo la función de lo que había sido un mecanismo de inhibición de la división. Además, enseguida da paso a una mayor e irreversible transformación a partir de la integración de estos territorios en la estructura imperial romana (Currás 2019) con la construcción de nuevas realidades políticas fruto de la interacción directa entre las comunidades locales y el poder estatal de Roma (González García 2011). Esta es una historia muy larga. Tiene una complejidad y cantidad de ramificaciones y dobles sentidos que no podemos justificar plena y coherentemente en esta síntesis. De hecho, aunque la narrativa que hemos trenzado aquí privilegia la visión desde el lado comunitario, se podría hacer una narrativa alternativa desde la emergencia sucesiva de la individualidad y los procesos de aristocratización. El que podamos contar la misma historia desde perspectivas diferentes, que parecen antagónicas, tal vez sea la mejor prueba no solo de que analizamos un

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proceso histórico que no se puede reducir a una narrativa lineal, una visión simplista que es tan moderna como utópica; sino también de que esa realidad histórica solo podemos aprehenderla con un sistema complejo de equilibrios y fórmulas intermedias que se abarcan entre los contrarios división-indivisión entendidos como un modelo heurístico único, y no como los dos extremos de un progreso lineal. Esperamos, en todo caso, haber contribuido a mostrar la utilidad de nuestra tesis principal para comprender los procesos de cambio, y de resistencia al cambio, en las sociedades arqueológicas, una tesis que, en una medida no pequeña, se inspira en muchas de las ideas que Antonio Gilman ha ido aportándonos con el tiempo.

AGRADECIMIENTOS Agradecemos a los editores de este volumen su amable invitación a participar en el mismo. Y, sobre todo, agradecemos a Antonio Gilman todos sus años de amistad y de magisterio. Este trabajo se integra en los proyectos de investigación «Innovación tecnológica, circulación del metal y artefactos metálicos de prestigio en la Europa atlántica (s. xiii-i ANE)» (IN607D 2016/004), financiado por la GAIN – Xunta de Galicia; y «Producción y deposición masiva de bronces plomados en la transición Bronce Final - Edad del Hierro de la Europa atlántica» (HAR2017-84142-R), financiado por el Ministerio de Ciencia, Innovación y Universidades.

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Parcero-Oubiña, C.; Fábrega-Álvarez, P.; Salazar, D.; Troncoso, A.; Hayashida, F.; Pino, M.;... y Echenique, E. (2017): «Ground to Air and Back Again: Archaeological Prospection to Characterize Prehispanic Agricultural Practices in the High-Altitude Atacama (Chile)», Quaternary International, 435 (Part B): 95-110. Peña-Chocarro, L.; Pérez- Jordà, G.; Alonso, N.; Antolín, F.; Teira-Brión, A.; Tereso, J. P;... y López Reyes, D. (2017): «Roman and Medieval Crops in the Iberian Peninsula: A First Overview of Seeds and Fruits from Archaeological Sites», Quaternary International, 499 (Part A): 49-66. Pontevedra-Pombal, X.; Mighall, T. M.; Nóvoa-Muñoz, J. C.; Peiteado-Varela, E.; Rodríguez-Racedo, J.; García-Rodeja, E., y Martínez-Cortizas, A. (2013): «Five Thousand Years of Atmospheric Ni, Zn, as, and CD Deposition Recorded in Bogs from NW Iberia: Prehistoric and Historic Anthropogenic Contributions», Journal of Archaeological Science, 40 (1): 764-777. Prieto Martínez, M. P. (2001): La cultura material cerámica en la prehistoria reciente de Galicia: yacimientos al aire libre. Laboratorio de Arqueoloxía e Formas Culturais, Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, Santiago de Compostela. — (2013): «Unity and Circulation: What Underlies the Homogeneity of Galician Bell Beaker Ceramic Style?», en M. P. Prieto Martínez y L. Salanova (eds.), Current Researches on Bell Beakers: Proceedings of the 15th International Bell Beaker Conference: From Atlantic to Ural. 5th-9th May 2011. Copynino-Centro de Impresión Digital, Santiago de Compostela: 209-241.

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Tejedor-Rodríguez, C. (2014): «Reconstruyendo “biografías megalíticas” algunos ejemplos de alteraciones estructurales en monumentos megalíticos del valle del Duero/Douro», en J. Honrado Castro, M. Á. Brezmes Escribano, A. Tejeiro Pizarro y Ó. Rodríguez Monterrubio (eds.), Investigaciones Arqueológicas en el valle del Duero. Glyphos, Valladolid: 6786. Tereso, J. P.; Bettencourt, A. M. S.; Ramil-Rego, P.; Teira-Brión, A.; López-Dóriga, I.; Lima, A., y Almeida, R. (2016): «Agriculture in NW Iberia during the Bronze Age: A Review of Archaeobotanical Data», Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports, 10: 44-58. Tereso, J. P.; Ramil-Rego, P., y Almeida-da-Silva, R. (2013): «Roman Agriculture in the Conventus Bracaraugustanus (NW Iberia)», Journal of Archaeological Science, 40 (6): 28482858. Tereso, J. P.; Ramil-Rego, P.; Álvarez González, Y.; López González, L., y Almeida-da-Silva, R. (2013): «Massive Storage In as Laias/O Castelo (Ourense, NW Spain) from the Late Bronze Age/Iron Age Transition to the Roman Period: A Palaeoethnobotanical Approach», Journal of Archaeological Science, 40 (11): 3865-3877. Torres-Martínez, J. F.; Fernández-Götz, M.; Martínez, A.; Cabanillas de la Torre, G.; Vacas Madrid, D., y Martín Hernández, E. (2015): «Las fortificaciones protohistóricas del área cantábrica: aspectos defensivos, sociales y simbólicos», Gallaecia, 34: 57-82. Uriarte González, A.; Fernández Freire, C.; Fraguas-Bravo, A.; Castañeda, N.; Capdevila, E.; Salas Tovar, E.;... y Vicent, J. (2017): «IDEArq-C14: Una Infraestructura de Datos Espaciales para la cronología radiocarbónica de la Prehistoria Reciente ibérica», en J. A. Barceló, I. Bogdanovic y B. Morell (eds.), IberCrono. Cronometrías para la Historia de la Península Ibérica. Actas del Congreso de Cronometrías para la Historia de la Península Ibérica (IberCrono 2017). Barcelona, Spain, September 17-19, 2016. CEUR-WS, Barcelona: 209-225. Valera. A.; Silva, A. M., y Márquez Romero, J. E. (2014): «The Temporality of Perdigoes Enclosures: Absolute Chronology of the Structures and Social Practices», Spal, 23: 11-26.

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IX. WHERE IS THE STATE IN PORTUGUESE LATER PREHISTORY? Katina T. Lillios

Abstract Archaeologists have devoted considerable attention to the emergence of social inequality in Spain and debated whether or not state-level formations existed in the Copper or Bronze Ages. This chapter explores a related question: where is the state in Portuguese late prehistory? I address this question in two ways. First, I review the ways that social organization (inequality, power, evolutionary taxonomies) have been discussed by archaeologists working in Portugal, and then I evaluate the archaeological evidence for social inequality (and the state) in prehistoric Portugal. In assessing the evidence for inequality, I draw on Antonio Gilman’s reasoning as delineated in his chapter ‘Were There States during the Later Prehistory of Southern Iberia?’ Keywords: Portugal, social complexity, rise of the state. Resumen Los arqueólogos han prestado considerable atención al surgimiento de la desigualdad social en España y han debatido sobre si existieron o no formaciones no estatales en la Edad del Cobre y del Bronce. Este artículo se ocupa de una cuestión relacionada: ¿dónde está el Estado en la prehistoria reciente portuguesa? Planteo esta cuestión de dos maneras. Primero, reviso cómo los arqueólogos que trabajan en Portugal han discutido sobre la organización social (desigualdad, poder, taxonomías evolutivas...), y posteriormente hago una valoración de la evidencia arqueológica sobre la desigualdad social (y el Estado) en la prehistoria de Portugal. Al evaluar esta evidencia de desigualdad, me baso en el razonamiento de Antonio Gilman descrito en su trabajo ‘Were There States during the Later Prehistory of Southern Iberia?’

Palabras clave: Portugal, complejidad social, surgimiento del Estado. 9.1. INTRODUCTION Understanding the nature of social hierarchy in Iberia during the Copper and Bronze Ages has been a major focus of archaeological research since the 1980s. Were these communities organized as states, chiefdoms, tribes, or some form of segmentary societies? Was power expressed coercively, through violence, or by consensus? Did inequality involve differential access to key subsistence resources? Most of the research on these questions has been carried out by Spanish archaeologists in the present-day Spanish territory, principally the Southeast, with the writing of Antonio Gilman central to this research. It has provoked archaeologists to consider the social implications of different economic practices, technologies, and environments, and the opportunities these material conditions afforded aspiring leaders and potential resisters. Gilman’s research, drawn from Marxist theory, comparative archaeology, and the historic and ethnographic records, has challenged archaeologists working in the Iberian Peninsula to ask new questions of the archaeological evidence and to interrogate it systematically. In this paper, I explore a related question: where is the state in Portuguese late prehistory? I address this question in two ways. First, I review the ways that social organization (inequality, power, evolutionary taxonomies) has been discussed by archaeologists working in Portugal on the Copper and Bronze Ages. Following this, I

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evaluate the archaeological evidence for social inequality (and the state) in the prehistoric Portugal. In assessing the evidence for inequality, I draw on Antonio Gilman’s reasoning as delineated in his chapter ‘Were There States during the Later Prehistory of Southern Iberia?,’ published in his 2013 co-edited volume The Prehistory of Iberia: Debating Early Social Stratification and the State (Gilman 2013). In it, Gilman incisively reviews the archaeological evidence for the state during the Copper and Bronze Age of Spain using five criteria. These criteria are: 1. functional differentiation of households, 2. hereditary social hierarchies/class society, 3. evidence for large-scale ideological justification, 4. an economic base sufficiently productive to generate a surplus, and 5. an environment that circumscribes or “cages the commoners” (from Mann 1986). Gilman concludes that, while there were conditions that favored relations of dependency and control in the arid Southeast, productivity was not high enough for significant wealth to be accumulated nor conditions in which the ‘commoners could be caged.’ Evidence for the state in prehistoric Spain, therefore, is not compelling. 9.2. SOCIAL INEQUALITY IN THE PORTUGUESE COPPER AND BRONZE AGES: AN HISTORIOGRAPHIC OVERVIEW Gilman begins his 2013 chapter: “Within the traditional approach to Spanish prehistory, an essentially sociological concept such as the state was of no importance” (Gilman 2013: 10). This picture changed in Spain with the collapse of traditional diffusionist arguments in the 1970s, following the calibration of radiocarbon dates, and the incorporation of Marxist and evolutionary models beginning in the 1980s. How does this compare to the study of Portuguese late prehistory? In Portugal, the earliest discussions about Copper Age societies also took place in the early 1980s and focused on the fortified settlements, known as ‘castros.’ These were the primary settlement type known and considered characteristic of the Copper Age. An important debate on the genesis of fortified settlements in Portugal took place at a conference in Lisbon in 1985, which included the voices of nine Portuguese archaeologists. They were Victor Gonçalves, João Cardoso, Rosa and Mário Varela Gomes, Ana Margarida Arruda, Joaquina Soares, Carlos Tavares da Silva, Caetano da Mello Beirão, and Rui Parreira (Gonçalves et al. 1983-1984). Given that castros, such as Vila Nova de São Pedro, Zambujal, and Santa Justa, like Los Millares in Spain, were viewed as colonies founded by East Mediterrane-

an peoples or copper metallurgists, these early efforts to understand Copper Age sites focused on re-evaluating their histories. At the Lisbon conference, archaeologists discussed the stratigraphies, chronologies, and architectural histories of castros to answer a fundamental question: Were they the product of indigenous communities or were they the work of foreign communities that colonized the Portuguese territory? Debate focused on whether or not cultural hiatuses could be detected, with a hiatus seen as evidence for an exogenous/colonial event. Attention was focused on sequences of material culture and the use of space. For Leceia, Cardoso argued that there was no evidence for a foreign metal-using group implanting themselves on the site. All evidence pointed to continuities (although changes). For Rosa and Mário Varela Gomes, evidence for discontinuity could be seen at Escoural, which had been a sanctuary in the Final Neolithic-Early Copper Age but which was a place of settlement in the later Copper Age. There were also new artifacts, including copper objects, which had not appeared before. This was taken as evidence for cultural rupture and the settlement of new peoples, although they were not necessarily east Mediterranean groups. Arruda argued for continuity, noting the overall continuity in ceramic types at Vila Nova de São Pedro, as known from the 1959 section by Savory. To Gonçalves, Copper Age communities expressed, without a doubt, a new settlement strategy (such as the fortified site) that originated in the Mediterranean, although the people themselves were local. To Soares, the shift in use of Escoural (from sanctuary to settlement) did not necessarily represent a cultural rupture, nor did she argue for a cultural shift from the megalithic period to the Copper Age. Drawing on his work on the Iron Age, Beirão also argued that the abandonment of the sanctuary of Escoural did not necessarily represent a cultural rupture. He also pointed out that at the settlement there were periods of abandonment, which have generally not been argued to represent cultural discontinuity. Parreira argued that at Zambujal, there were important shifts in the defensive strategies and structures, and not a continuous evolution. The debate was lengthy and, no doubt, animated. Underpinning these discussions, no matter the interpretation of the evidence, was a normative idea of culture, which was a key premise of the cultural historical approach. That is, culture represents a set of shared ideas and practices, and differences or changes in these ideas and practices are generally ascribed to a different group of people or culture. Much less was known about the Portuguese Bronze Age – particularly the Early Bronze Age –

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and the record provided more evidence of burials than settlements. As in Southeast Spain, the burials in southern Portugal were individual graves in cist tombs accompanied by carinated ceramics and the rare metal object, such as daggers, halberds, and rings. Silva, Lopez and Maciel (1984) interpreted the shift to represent a fragmentation in the social groups once typical of the Copper Age: “the individual character of the burials grouped in a nucleus reflecting a family or clan (of the Early Bronze Age), certainly represents a fragmentation of the rite of collective interment” (ibid.: 429). One of the few Early Bronze Age settlements known at the time, which was the first to be radiocarbon-dated, was Agroal, where I directed excavations between 1987 and 1990. The material culture recovered from Agroal, particularly the ceramics, suggested greater continuity than previously recognized between the Copper and Bronze Age (Lillios 1991, 1993a, 1993b). In the 1990s, discussions increasingly turned to the nature of leadership during the Portuguese Copper Age. Some of these viewpoints were articulated in a session that I organized at the 1990 American Anthropological Association meeting in Chicago (upon the suggestion of Antonio Gilman) and later published in an edited volume (idem 1995). In his analysis of megalithic tombs in northern Portugal, Vitor Oliveira Jorge (1995: 146) wrote: “What is evident here, I believe, is a process of integration under the leadership of certain individuals, families, or lineages of groups that previously lived in a state of self-sufficiency or autarchy and were now united (even if only temporarily) in order to realize certain constructions.” The existence of leaders was presumed, and these were considered to be most likely “the oldest men of certain lineages” (ibid.: 146), as only they would have had “the leadership capability to plan and direct the execution of megalithic monuments from the technical aspects of megalithic construction to the symbolic depictions clearly represented in megalithic art.” These societies were “weakly hierarchized” (ibid: 147). Jorge focused on the ways that different megalithic architectures (closed dolmens versus those with an open chamber) structured different sizes of gatherings. He also reminded the reader that burials are not to be read as exact representations of social structures but are an ‘ideal face’ of that society (ibid: 150). In this same volume, Kunst (1995) proposed that social complexity and inequality had emerged by the early Copper Age of Portugal (rather than at the transition between the Copper and Bronze Ages, as suggested by Gilman and Chapman). The evidence from Zambujal provided this support for Kunst. These included the site’s fortifications, specialized copper

metallurgy (as evidenced by the finds from round-house V) and other craft production (thin-walled ceramics, long flint blades, bone objects). Kunst also pointed to evidence for surplus agricultural production in the lack of sickle blades with silica gloss at the site (despite evidence for millstones and cereal grains); thus, he argued, the producers lived off-site and produced a surplus that helped to support the population at the site. Rather than focus on the nature of the social formation (tribe, chiefdom, state, e.g.), Kunst addresses the nature of Zambujal as a site – and viewed it as a central place and node for trade. Also contributing to this volume was Senna-Martínez (1995), who presented a diachronic analysis of the economic practices of communities in central Portugal, a region that typically is not considered in discussion of social complexity in Iberia (even to this day). The evolutionary trajectory of the region is significantly different from Southwest Iberia, he argued, because of its reliance on the herding of sheep and goats during the Copper Age and, thus, “the lack of a stable and reliable food source as the basis for staple finance” (p. 86, quoting Gilman). Changes occurred in the Late Copper Age/Beaker period and during particularly the Late Bronze Age, the latter, with the development of rye cultivation and the incorporation of the region into Atlantic and continental metal-trading routes. As these works make clear, there was no one overarching theoretical paradigm in the 1990s that structured Portuguese archaeological thinking on the Copper and Bronze Ages with respect to social complexity. Cardoso’s excavations at Leceia contributed insights into the chronology and social order of the Copper Age. In his writing, one sees some of the clearest considerations of the nature of the Copper Age social organization:

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The magnificence of such building-work (during the Early Chalcolithic) clearly demonstrates a hierarchical society, on an intra- and inter-communal level. The tribal model, which presupposes equality on account of blood ties, does not totally correspond to the observed reality. It is more appropriate to visualize a settled society, clearly established in its own territory, whose openness to external stimuli favoured the arrival of outsiders. The presence of the latter, however, are not necessary to explain the forms of intra-communal social differentiation which were already emerging. The differences in housing structure, both in size and quality of building may be related to privilege proportional to the social status of their respective inhabitants. One such case is an imposing house, circular in plan, situated in the best defended area, while others, smaller in size and built to a lower standard, are situated in places more easily exposed to enemy raids.

On the other hand, the building of this imposing fortification with its three defensive lines and a built-up area almost as large as Vila Nova de S. Pedro (10,000 sq m) and larger than that of Zambujal (7000 sq m) presupposes the existence of surplus food supplies. Only thus could a section of the population be released from productive activities for long periods of time. Finally, one can visualize at Leceia not only the social division of labour, as in any other tribal community, but also a hierarchy of functions, leaving the general coordination of everyone’s work in the hands of an ‘elite.’ In effect, the occupation of the Leceia platform, like the building of the inner enclosure of Vila Nova de S. Pedro, seems to have been the result of a previously defined plan methodically, accurately and simultaneously put into practice: the three lines of walls, occupying a space of about 10,000 sq m, can be shown to have been built at the same time, thus showing a clear a priori idea of what was intended to be built (Cardoso 2000: 48).

Another thread in the archaeological literature of the Portuguese Copper were considerations of the urban (or proto-urban) nature of the fortified settlements (Müller and Soares 2008: 94). In Soares’ 2016 edited volume Social Complexity in a Long Term Perspective (based on a UISPP session), social evolution is considered in the longue durée, with papers covering the Epipaleolithic through the Bronze Age, primarily in Portugal (Soares 2016a). For example, Silva and Soares (2016) discuss the evidence for a specialized shellfish economy in the Epipaleolithic, as illustrated at the shell middens or Medo da Fonte Santa and Pedro do Patacho; they viewed these as the material traces of short-term camps engaging in logistical mobility. This system presupposes social differentiation, most likely along the lines of age and gender. These societies are still viewed as ‘egalitarian’ – but forming the “precondition for growing cultural and social complexity” (ibid.: 35). Turning to the 3rd millennium BCE, Soares (2016b) employs a multiscalar approach to the settlement of Porto das Carretas to suggest that the site was integrated into regional and supraregional systems of interaction. Her discussion represents the clearest exposition of current thinking regarding the period on a macro-scale. She views social complexity in terms of social differentiation and inequality, with social stratification apparent in the Early Iron Age, while Late Bronze Age hereditary elites were integrated in the Mediterranean-Atlantic exchange system (ibid.: 78). She argued that the Late Neolithic/Early Copper Age of southern Portugal was a time of “complex tribal societies,” while the second half of the 3rd millennium was a period of unstable centralized power and chiefdoms. For the 3rd millennium BC, the prime movers of social inequality were the economic changes related to the Secondary Products Revolution and metallurgy.

9.3. SOCIAL INEQUALITY IN THE PORTUGUESE COPPER AND BRONZE AGES: THE EVIDENCE What characterizes Portuguese late prehistoric archaeology is a highly variegated scholarly landscape in terms of theoretical perspective. Rarely, however, has research been designed to assess or test a particular model, and explicit definitions of key concepts (tribal, complexity, house and household, etc.) are not common. Without clear definitions of these concepts and some general agreement on them, it is, indeed, difficult if not impossible to compare sites or regions. Thus, assessing the archaeological evidence for the state (or stratification) is difficult. After all, the archaeological record is both a product of the evidence that is preserved and recovered and the questions that archaeologists ask and collect information/ generate data on. Another challenge has been the traditionally greater focus on chronology (architecture/wall building phases) and less attention devoted to households, which would provide key data. Because our knowledge of the Early Bronze Age in Portugal is still rudimentary, I primarily address the evidence for the Copper Age. 9.3.1. Functional differentiation of households Household archaeology is an approach that not only focuses on identifying houses, defined as “the spatial setting in which people carry out their day to day activities,” but considers how houses and households are mutually constitutive (Hendon 2004: 272). In other words, houses make households, and households make houses. In Spain, Gilman notes that “there is no systematic published evidence from settlements for differentiated activities within them” (Gilman 2013: 12). Rather, the evidence suggests that a broad range of activities were carried out at most or all of them (metallurgy, lithic production, etc.). This would be consistent with a domestic mode of production in which goods were produced by and for the household. In prehistoric Portugal, a similar range of activities is evident at settlements. At the ditched enclosures, evidence for dwellings or occupation levels are rare. What would be indicative of a more hierarchical system would be households involved in production for consumption outside that household. Unfortunately, there has not been much household archaeology carried out in Portugal or research dedicated to addressing this question. As in Spain, there is evidence that certain structures were involved in specialized production, but whether these were also houses or used by households is not at all clear. Specialized facilities related to production on sites or in communities

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could also be communal facilities used by different members of the community, such as bread ovens in Portuguese villages. At Zambujal in House V, a clay-ring and fireplaces were found with hundreds of copper prills, slag, and crucible fragments. The house appears to have been a space where metallurgical production occurred, although the lack of ores found in it make it unlikely that it was associated with smelting. Interestingly, all domestic spaces excavated at Zambujal included copper prills and crucible fragments, suggesting the metallurgy was not confined to just one place in the community. However, these spaces were not necessarily used during all phases of the site’s occupation (Gauss 2013). At Leceia, a structure (Casa ZZ) was found with over a dozen grinding tools. Paved features in other structures, circular in shape and with a working surface regularized by a layer of compacted earth, were interpreted as threshing floors based on their similarity to threshing floors known ethnographically in Portugal (Cardoso 1999/2000: 331). 9.3.2. Hereditary social hierarchies Another potential source of information regarding hierarchies are house sizes, with significant differences in their sizes suggestive of hereditary social hierarchies. However, again, without clear and agreed-upon definitions of what a house is or looks like for the prehistoric record of Iberia, we are challenged in determining this. Gilman notes that in the Copper Age of Southeast Spain, there is little evidence for large-scale differences in house sizes within settlements (Gilman 2013: 14). In Portugal, there are only a few Copper Age settlements for which houses have been exposed. At Leceia, Cardoso has identified several types of houses of different sizes (and representing different periods of the site’s occupation). These include 1) round houses, which can reach 5 m in diameter (Cabana EN, e.g.), 2) ellipsoidal houses, with the largest ones measuring between 1015 m in their maximum length and 7-8 m in width (Cabana GA, e.g.), 3) houses annexed to pre-existing structures, such as walls (Cabanas HH and L, e.g.), and 4) smaller round houses, with circular fireplaces in their interior (Cabana JJ, e.g.) (Cardoso 2010 and personal communication). The larger structures/houses do seem different in their nature, but whether they represent the houses of wealthier households or communal meeting or activity spaces is not clear. The burial record is another context where information about hereditary status might be detected, with wealthy child burials considered a strong indicator. Given, however, the collec-

tive nature of burials during the Copper Age and the commingled nature of these tombs, this is difficult to assert as it is often nearly impossible to link individuals with specific artifacts. Another approach is through isotopic analysis of diet, with significant differences between the diet of individuals (particularly protein levels/ sources) a possible indicator of differential access to key resources. In their analysis of seven Late Neolithic/Copper Age collective burials in the Portuguese Estremadura, Waterman, Tykot and Silva (2016) found no significant differences between the 81 individuals sampled at these sites. They did, however, note two patterns. First, the δ15N values of older juveniles were statistically significant (lower) when compared to adults, which may indicate culturally mediated differences in adult and child diets, or relate to aspects of bone growth and development. Second, they found statistically significant differences in protein and/or plant intake between Cova da Moura and four of the other burials, as well as differences in plant intake between Bolores and Feteira II. These results suggest that the populations housed in each burial site were groups who shared similar cuisines and/or dietary practices, but do not point to privileged groups within these sites based on hereditary status. 9.3.3. Evidence for large-scale ideological justification As Gilman argues: “any system of large-scale exploitation requires large-scale ideological justification” (Gilman 2013: 22). In such a system, kinship is overridden by allegiance to deities or a deity. In neither the Millaran nor the Argaric is there overt evidence for such large-scale ideological superstructure. A similar picture can be found in Portugal. There are, of course, the numerous anthropomorphic figurines or idols in slate, bone, ivory, etc., which may well represent deities (but could also be ancestors). In their portability and materiality, we find key clues in the ways that they operated. We are not, specifically, looking at deities that were reproduced on a large scale that dominated the landscape or that materialized intensive labor or skills. These are all objects that, while involving care in their manufacture, and in some cases, some effort to acquire their raw materials, would not have had the capacity, I would suggest, to justify large-scale exploitation. They appear to have been objects that could have been brought out for particular rituals, public or private, or involved in more intimate forms of interaction. Megalithic tombs themselves also reflect the role of kinship. They likely housed kin groups (or a subset of kin groups), and the annexing of

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younger tombs to older ones is highly suggestive on enduring kin ties. At Comenda 2 and Farisoa, in the Alentejo, a tholos was annexed to each of the original passage graves (Gonçalves 1999: 90-111). At Olival da Pega 2, where a large passage grave was originally built (OP2a), a tholos was annexed (OP2b), then another tholos was annexed to the other side of the passage of OP2 (OP2d), and finally a microtholos added to OP2d (OP2e). These instances, as well as the reuse of older tombs throughout the 3rd millennium BC, suggest that some individuals or groups at this time wanted to materially connect with ancestral spaces, people, and objects, perhaps as part of a social or political strategy, or as a response to threats to traditional ancestral bonds. 9.3.4. Economic base sufficiently productive to generate a surplus The ability of a community to generate a surplus in agricultural produce is contingent on a reliable subsistence base. Relatively little research has been devoted to subsistence practices and their intensity and comparing them across Copper Age settlements in Portugal. What is known suggests that communities were involved in consuming a similar range of crops (wheat, barley), animal domesticates (cattle, sheep, goat, pigs), and wild animals (deer, boar). 9.3.5. Circumscribing environment The Spanish Southeast was a highly circumscribed environment, with its mountains, aridity, and generally precarious conditions for agriculture. In contrast, the environment of Southwest Iberia, with its fertile soils, rolling hills, open plains, and numerous rivers, fostered interconnections and exchange. The Tejo, Sado, and Guadiana were corridors for transportation and exchange, though the rivers would have also been ‘soft’ borders, as boating technologies and navigational knowledge would have been

needed to cross them. Caging the commoners, to use Mann’s term, would have been difficult. People voted with their feet, and indeed, I have proposed that fission, as a form of resistance in the face of rising inequality, was a deliberate social strategy carried out by groups in this region at the end of the 3rd millennium BC (Lillios 1991, 1993a). Numerous fortified settlements were abandoned, or the size of their occupied areas decreased toward the latter half of the 3rd millennium BC, and new settlements were established, such as Agroal. 4. CONCLUSION As in Southeast Spain, the archaeological evidence for late prehistoric Portugal (the Southwest, in particular) suggests that a landscape of social differentiation was certainly at play. Special objects, some made with exotic materials or depicting symbolically charged beings, were found in special places and likely used by special people. Monumental constructions in the form of burials, ritual spaces, and settlements are also apparent. Crafting of some goods (metals, ceramics, stone, etc.) involved specialized knowledge. Nonetheless, there is no evidence to suggest that hereditary inequalities were at play. The environment was certainly productive, but it did not likely provide opportunities for marked productive differences to be sustained. That it was not a highly circumscribed environment also meant that groups could vote with their feet and avoid situations of tribute or exploitation. I want to conclude this paper by expressing my deepest gratitude to Antonio Gilman for his support throughout my career, from when I first met him at the Siret conference in 1984 as a beginning graduate student. I have always been able to count on his honest, sometimes blunt, and well-reasoned answers to my questions. His concern with social inequality and power and the diverse ways they can be manifested and challenged have profoundly shaped my own thinking.

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REFERENCES Cardoso, J. L. (1999/2000): “O Calcolítico da Baixa Estremadura: contributos para um ensaio, a propósito de Leceia (Oeiras)”, Estudos Arqueológicos de Oeiras, 8: 325–53. — (2000): “The Fortified Site of Leceia (Oeiras) in the Context of the Chalcolithic in Portuguese Estremadura”, Oxford Journal of Archaeology, 19 (1): 37–55. — (2010): “Povoado pré-histórico de Leceia (Oeiras): evolução arquitectónica do sistema defensivo e das técnicas construtivas correlativas”, in V. S. Gonçalves and A. C. Sousa (eds.), Transformação e mudança no centro e sul de Portugal: o 4o e o 3o milénios a.n.e. Câmara Municipal, Cascais: 43–63. Cruz-Berrocal, M.; García Sanjuán L., and Gilman, A. (eds.) (2013): The Prehistory of Iberia: Debating Early Social Stratification and the State. Routledge, New York. Gauss, R. (2013): “The Development of Metallurgy on the Iberian Peninsula: Technological and Social Patterns of a Long-Term Innovation Process”, in S. Burmeister, S. Hansen, M. Kunst and N. Müller-Scheessel (eds.), Metal Matters: Innovative Technologies and Social Change in Prehistory and Antiquity, Verlag Marie Leidorf, Rahden/Westf: 209–29. Gilman, A. (2013): “Were There States during the Later Prehistory of Southern Iberia?”, in M. Cruz-Berrocal, L. García Sanjuán and A. Gilman, The Prehistory of Iberia: Debating Early Social Stratification and the State. Routledge, New York: 10-28. Gonçalves, V. S. (1990): Reguengos de Monsaraz: Territórios Megalíticos. Câmara Municipal de Reguengos de Monsaraz, Lisbon. Gonçalves, V. S.; Cardoso, J.; Varela Gomes, R.; Varela Gomes, M.; Arruda, A. M.; Soares, J.;... and Parreira, R. (1983-1984): “Povoados calcolíticos fortificados no centro/sul de Portugal: génese e dinámica”, Clio/Arqueologia, 1: 141–54. Hendon, J. A. (2004): “Living and Working at Home: The Social Archaeology of Household Production and Social Relations”, in L. Meskell and R. Preucel (eds.), A Companion to Social Archaeology. Wiley-Blackwell, Oxford: 272–86.

Jorge, V. O. (1995): “Late Prehistoric Funerary Mounds in Northern Portugal as Indicators of Social Complexity”, in K. T. Lillios (ed.), The Origins of Complex Societies in Late Prehistoric Iberia. International Monographs in Prehistory, Ann Arbor, MI: 140–53. Kunst, M. (1995): “Central Places and Social Complexity in the Iberian Copper Age”, in K. T. Lillios (ed.), The Origins of Complex Societies in Late Prehistoric Iberia. International Monographs in Prehistory, Ann Arbor, MI: 32–43. Lillios, K. T. (1991): “Competition to Fission: The Copper to Bronze Age Transition in the Lowlands of West-Central Portugal (3000-1000 BC)”. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Yale University. — (1993a): “Regional Settlement Abandonment at the End of the Copper Age in the Lowlands of West-Central Portugal”, in C. Cameron and S. Tomka (eds.), Abandonment of Settlements and Regions: Ethno-archaeological and Archaeological Approaches. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge: 110–20. — (1993b): “Agroal and the Early Bronze Age of the Portuguese Lowlands”, Actas do Io Congresso de Arqueologia Peninsular, Trabalhos de Antropologia e Etnologia, 33 (3-4): 261–81. — (ed.) (1995): The Origins of Complex Societies in Late Prehistoric Iberia. International Monographs in Prehistory, Ann Arbor, MI. Mann, M. (2012): A History of Power from the Beginning to AD 1760. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Müller, R., and Soares A. M. (2008): “Traces of Early Copper Production at the Chalcolithic Fortification of Vila Nova de São Pedro (Azambuja, Portugal)”, Madrider Mitteilungen, 48: 94–114. Senna-Martínez, J. C. de (1995): “The Late Prehistory of Central Portugal: A First Diachronic View”, in K. T. Lillios (ed.), The Origins of Complex Societies in Late Prehistoric Iberia. International Monographs in Prehistory, Ann Arbor, MI: 64–94. Silva, A. C. F.; Lopes, A.B., and Maciel T. P. (1984): “A necrópole do Bronze Inicial de Chã de Arefe”, Revista de Guimarães, 44: 425–9. Silva, C. T., and Soares, J. (2016): “The Pleistocene-Holocene Transition on the Portuguese Southwest Coast. A Zero Stage of Social Complexity”, Setúbal Arqueológica, 16 (Special issue: J. Soares (ed.), Social Complexity in a Long Term Perspective): 21–40.

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Soares, J. (ed.) (2016a): Social Complexity in a Long Term Perspective, special issue of Setúbal Arqueológica, 16. — (2016b): “Social Complexity in the Third Millennium Cal BC in Southern Portugal”, Setúbal Arqueológica, 16 (Special issue: J. Soares (ed.), Social Complexity in a Long Term Perspective): 77-114. Valera, A. C. (2007): Dinâmicas locais de identidade: estruturação de um espaço de tradição no tercero milénio AC (Fornos de Algodres, Guarda). Município de Fornos de Algodres, Fornos de Algodres.

— (2018): Os Perdigões neolíticos. Génese e desenvolvimento. Perdigões Monográfica 1. Núcleo de Investigação Arqueológica (NIA), Era Arqueologia S.A., Lisbon. — (2019): “Landscapes of Complexity in Southern Portugal during the 4th and 3rd Millennia BC”, in J. Müller, M. Hinz, and M. Wanderlich (eds.), Megaliths, Societies, Landscapes. Early Monumentality and Social Differentiation in Neolithic Europe. Dr. Rudolf Habelt GmbH, Bonn: 1039–54. Waterman, A. J.; Tykot, R. H., and Silva A. M. (2016): “Stable Isotope Analysis of Diet-Based Social Differentiation at Late Prehistoric Collective Burials in South-Western Portugal”, Archaeometry, 58 (1): 131–51.

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X. THE HUMAN POSITION: THE POTENTIAL OF BIOARCHAEOLOGY FOR STUDIES OF INEQUALITY IN IBERIAN LATE PREHISTORY Jess Beck

Abstract Traditional studies of prehistoric inequality have focused on its material traces in the archaeological record, examining evidence such as architecture, patterns of long-distance exchange, craft specialization, settlement hierarchies, and mortuary treatment. Bioarchaeological data from human skeletons provide a unique and complementary line of evidence with which to augment existing archaeological approaches, as embodied inequalities in the lived experience of diet, mobility, trauma, disease, physiological stress, and activity patterns can lead to differences that are osteologically measurable. Bioarchaeological investigations of inequality are particularly important for the Iberian Copper Age (circa 3250–2200 BC), a period marked by significant social transformations, including the emergence of complex sites. This chapter focuses on the available osteological evidence for patterning in diet, mobility, and violence at complex Chalcolithic sites such as La Pijotilla, Los Millares, Marroquíes, Perdigões, Valencina-Castilleja, and Zambujal to explore the biocultural impact of Copper Age social transformations. The chapter concludes with recommendations for continuing to develop a regional bioarchaeology of the Iberian Copper Age while embedding bioarchaeological data within the larger context of archaeological investigations of inequality within Iberian late prehistory. Keywords: inequality, embodiment, Copper Age, Iberia, bioarchaeology.

bio a larga distancia, la especialización artesanal, las jerarquías de asentamientos y el tratamiento mortuorio. Los datos bioarqueológicos de los esqueletos humanos proporcionan una línea de evidencia única y complementaria con la que potenciar los enfoques arqueológicos existentes, puesto que las desigualdades corpóreas en la experiencia vital de la dieta, movilidad, traumatismos, enfermedades, estrés fisiológico y patrones de actividad pueden llevar a diferencias que son cuantificables osteológicamente. Las investigaciones bioarqueológicas sobre desigualdad son especialmente importantes en la Edad del Cobre ibérica (ca. 3250-2200 BC), un periodo marcado por transformaciones sociales significativas que incluyen la aparición de lugares complejos. Este capítulo se centra en la evidencia osteológica disponible para definir patrones en la dieta, movilidad y violencia en asentamientos calcolíticos complejos como La Pijotilla, Los Millares, Marroquíes, Perdigões, Valencina-Castilleja y Zambujal para explorar el impacto biocultural en las transformaciones sociales de la Edad del Cobre. El capítulo concluye con recomendaciones para el desarrollo de una bioarqueología regional de la Edad del Cobre ibérica al tiempo que se integran los datos bioarqueológicos en el contexto amplio de las investigaciones arqueológicas sobre la desigualdad en la prehistoria reciente ibérica. Palabras clave: desigualdad, Edad del Cobre, Iberia, bioarqueología, corporeidad.

Resumen Los estudios tradicionales sobre la desigualdad prehistórica se han centrado en los rastros materiales del registro arqueológicos, examinando evidencias como la arquitectura, los patrones de intercam-

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10.1. INTRODUCTION In “Musee des Beaux Arts,” Auden foregrounds the “human position” of suffering, “how it takes place / While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along” (Auden 1940). Though the poet was emphasizing how people easily become inured to others’ hardship, the idea that suffering occurs from a ‘human position’ also resonates within the context of recent explorations of embodiment in public health (Petteway, Mujahid and Allen 2019), epidemiology (Krieger and Davy Smith 2004; Krieger 2005), and anthropology (Gravlee 2009). Epidemiologist Nancy Krieger defines ‘embodiment’ as “…how we literally incorporate, biologically, the material and social world in which we live, from in utero to death” (2005: table 1). Within the fields of public health and epidemiology the concept has been used as a means of linking intersectional aspects of identity and life history to measurable health outcomes to elucidate the complex interweaving of socioecological factors that affect human bodies (Kuzawa and Sweet 2009). However, the idea that bodies have a unique capacity to “tell stories” (Krieger 2005: 350) has also begun to be explored in archaeology over the past two decades. Recent bioarchaeological research has emphasized the somatic and performative character of identity, investigating the ways in which deliberate bodily transformations such as artificial cranial deformation and foot binding lead to the reification of elite, ethnic, or gendered statuses (Torres-Rouff 2002; Stone 2012). Rather than acting simply as a surface for ornamentation or a vessel for containing pre-existing identities, the body both shapes and is shaped by the cultural practices that constitute the individual (Joyce 2005; Sofaer 2010). The physiological transformations wrought by diseases such as leprosy or tuberculosis can likewise transform the social status of affected individuals, creating new categories of person (Roberts 2011; Robbins Schug 2016). Bioarchaeological analyses of trauma have revealed how bodily violence serves to reaffirm existing social orders and understandings of personhood (Klaus, Centurión and Curo 2010; Osterholtz 2012; Liston and Rotroff 2013). This violence can occur at the level of communities, with individual bodies acting as arenas in which social boundaries are demarcated and affirmed (Martin, Harrod and Fields 2010; Osterholtz and Martin 2017), or at the level of states and empires, in which the imperial project literally incorporates the bodies of its subjects in a program of deliberate structural violence (Larsen et al. 2001; Tung and Knudson 2010; Shuler 2011; Klaus 2012). While human bodies have previously been treated as passive recipients of larger external forces, a growing corpus of work on post-mortem agen-

cy emphasizes that bodies in and of themselves have the potential to act as catalysts for significant social and political transformations (Robb 2009; Arnold 2014; Tung 2014). These investigations are part of a gradual disciplinary turn away from typological and descriptive approaches to human biology towards an explicitly anthropological bioarchaeology. In this new framing, “relations of power” (Goodman 1998: 148) have begun to receive greater consideration when examining the biocultural factors underpinning human lived experience (Zuckerman and Armelagos 2011). Taken together, the tightly woven relationships between larger social, economic, and political systems and human bodies makes bioarchaeology a crucial approach which to analyze the emergence, expression, and maintenance of inequality within past societies (Quinn and Beck 2016). 10.2. BACKGROUND: INEQUALITY IN LATE PREHISTORIC IBERIA

10.2.1. Archaeological approaches to inequality in late prehistoric Iberia Archaeological strategies for identifying and evaluating inequality have traditionally focused on examining the differential distribution of material and energy investment across space or time (Price and Feinman 1995, 2010). These frameworks seek to identify settlement hierarchies (Steponaitis 1978, 1981; Duffy et al. 2013), concentrations of exotic materials, elaborated artefacts, or evidence of significant energy expenditure (Peebles and Kus 1977; Shennan 1982; Barrett 1990), clustering of high value subsistence resources (Earle 1977; Hayden 1990), evidence of territoriality and spatial control (Wright 1984), restricted access to places rife with ritual or symbolic power (Thomas 1990; Beck 2013), or areas home to raw materials that are in particularly high demand (Earle 2000). Though many of these material expressions of emerging inequalities are well-documented for the Bronze Age (Gilman 1975; Lull 2000; Lull et al. 2005), the extent to which such institutionalized inequalities may be rooted in social dynamics developed in earlier periods, particularly the Chalcolithic, remains a major question within Iberian prehistory (Gilman 1987, 2013; García Sanjuán and Díazdel-Río 2006; Nocete et al. 2010). The Iberian Copper Age, which stretched from approximately 3250-2200 BC, is a key period for understanding the emergence of inequality because regional archaeological evidence documents a suite of interrelated transformations

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across Chalcolithic social, political, and economic landscapes (Chapman 2008; García Sanjuán and Murillo Barroso 2013). Iberia was folded into the larger subsistence shifts that characterized third millennium Europe, with communities continuing to intensify their focus on agriculture as well as the exploitation of domesticates for secondary products such as dairy, wool, and traction (Sherratt 1983; Harrison 1985). Trade networks massively expanded in scale, with evidence that materials recovered from mortuary contexts, such as ostrich eggshell, ivory, and amber, were exchanged over increasingly long distances (Harrison and Gilman 1977; Schuhmacher, Cardoso and Banerjee 2009; Murillo-Barroso et al. 2018). These exotic materials were used to craft elaborate artifacts that were markedly distinct from the material culture of the preceding Neolithic, such as the crystal dagger and halberd from Valencina1 (García Sanjuán et al. 2013), the zoomorphic and anthropomorphic figurines from Perdigões (Valera and Shaw Evangelista 2014; Valera, Shaw Evangelista and Castanheira 2014), and the engraved slate plaques that have been recovered from mortuary contexts throughout southwestern Iberia (Lillios 2004). However, one of the most intriguing lines of evidence pointing to increasing levels of social differentiation during the Iberian Copper Age is the appearance of more complex sites on a landscape formerly dominated by smaller and simpler settlements. Sites such as La Pijotilla, Leceia, Los Millares, Marroquíes, Perdigões, Valencina, Villa Nova de Sao Pedro, and Zambujal,2 are characterized by some combination of the following traits: larger size, elaborate cemeteries or tombs, communal investment in architecture such as enclosure ditches or fortifications, or concentrations of elaborate artifacts, often crafted on exotic raw materials (Hurtado 1986; Micó 1995; Zafra, Hornos and Castro 1999; Cardoso 2000; Kunst 2006; Valera, Silva and Márquez-Romero 2014; García Sanjuán, Scarre and Wheatley 2017). As a result, these sites are distinct from the smaller-scale, less complex settlements that characterize the Late Neolithic and broader Copper Age backdrop. 1  While this site is variously referred to as “Valencina de la Concepción” and “Valencina-Castilleja” in the literature (Díaz-Zorita Bonilla 2017a; García Sanjuán et al. 2017), for purposes of brevity it is referred to in text as “Valencina”. 2  These are only a subset of key complex sites of the Iberian Copper Age. For example, Valera, Schuhmacher and Banerjee (2015) cite Porto Torrão and Alcalar (Portugal) and San Blas (Spain) as important sites for understanding complexity in third millennium Iberia, while Oliveira (2003) references Castelo Velho, Monte da Tumba (Portugal) and El Malagón (Spain) as unique and complex fortified sites of the Chalcolithic. The list could go on, but for the purposes of this chapter I have focused on a small sample of well-documented sites where bioarchaeological research has been published.

Importantly, each provides evidence for the occurrence of different kinds of social complexity, ranging from concentrations of elaborately crafted goods on exotic raw materials to the marshalling of significant amounts of communal labor or the occurrence of complex ritual practices involving the circulation of human remains and other types of objects. 10.2.2. The Copper Age: A Time of Experimentation It is no accident that the complex sites of the Iberian Copper Age are difficult to characterize. One of the most compelling features of this period for anthropological archaeologists is that it appears to have been a time of unprecedented experimentation. This variability is perhaps most apparent in the evidence for the diversity of strategies which underlie the internal organization of complex sites (Díaz-del-Río 2013). Even sites which fall into the same broad category, such as ‘fortified settlement’ or ‘mega-site’ show marked differences in their chronology, structure, and organization. Smaller-scale sites such as Los Millares (7 ha) and Zambujal (26 ha) are home to elaborate fortifications (Navas, Esquivel and Molina 2008; Kunst 2017), including complex wall systems augmented by embrasures, monumental barbican entrances, and outlying hill fort systems (Sangmeister and Schubart 1972; Esquivel and Navas 2007). Larger settlements such as Marroquíes (113 ha) likewise show evidence of defensive architecture including stone walls and bastions (Zafra, Hornos and Castro 1999). Finally, Valencina (450 ha), the largest mega-site known for the region, lacks evidence of walls or domestic or defensive stone architecture and is instead characterized by a dense palimpsest of negative features encompassing simple pits, complex polylobate features, and ditches (García Sanjuán, Scarre and Wheatley 2017). While Los Millares, Zambujal, and Marroquíes all incorporate some degree of fortification, the tempo of planning and construction that underlay such structures is debated, ranging from the relatively rapid deployment of design and labor over the course of several generations (Zafra, Castro and Hornos 2003), to a more agglomerative series of architectural adjustments spanning the multi-century use-life of a particular site (Monks 1997; Díaz-del-Río 2011). Los Millares is famed for its spatially-delimited chamber tomb cemetery (Chapman 1981), while Marroquíes and Valencina each incorporate multiple mortuary areas—including megalithic tombs, circular subterranean mortuary features, collective burials in artificial caves, and deposits of human remains in ‘non-funer-

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ary’ contexts such as enclosure ditches—which are scattered throughout each site (Costa Caramé et al. 2010; Cámara et al. 2012; Beck 2017; García Sanjuán, Scarre and Wheatley 2017). In contrast, the occupants of Zambujal buried their dead farther afield, at regional mortuary caves and rock shelters such as Bolores (Lillios 2014; Waterman et al. 2014). Domestic structures are well-documented at Marroquíes, and provide evidence that internal areas of the site were occupied during the time much of the ditch and wall complex was erected (Zafra, Hornos and Castro 1999; Barba Colmenero 2010), but no such structures have yet been found for Valencina, leading archaeologists to argue that the latter site represents “…a wide area with thousands of contiguous features forming a dense and continuous footprint of human activity” (García Sanjuán, Scarre and Wheatley 2017: 250). Indeed, though the layout of Marroquíes precisely echoes the organization of smaller-scale enclosure sites (Díaz-del-Río 2004a, 2004b), the sprawling palimpsest of Valencina has no clear parallel in the rest of the Iberian record. Despite the remarkable variability in site types, one broad characteristic unifying complex Copper Age sites in Iberia is that most are characterized by evidence of some form of collective labor investment, whether in stone fortifications, enclosure ditches, megalithic tombs, or other demonstrations of productive capacity. As Díaz-del-Río writes: In the whole of peninsular prehistory, population at the scale that seems to happen during the third millennium is a historical phenomenon that is rarely seen in the archaeological record. Viewed from this perspective, the occasional monumental scale of collective work is truly anomalous, not only in the prehistoric archaeological record, but in the whole of the Iberian record. Furthermore, the nature of its material is radically different from any other, either Paleolithic, Neolithic, Iron Age, Roman or medieval (2013: 67, translation mine).

The use of different strategies to marshal and organize the labor evidenced by the complex infrastructure of third millennium sites may be partially responsible for the “empirical heterogeneities” (Micó 1995: 172) and “delightfully contradictory” (Chapman 1995: 37) nature of the late prehistoric regional record. Social experimentation and the co-existence of different strategies for negotiating newfound political, economic, and ideological obstacles characterized multiple dimensions of Chalcolithic life, from mortuary practices to site organization and patterns of exchange, production, and craftsmanship. When discussing the inherent contradictions of the Copper Age, Gilman emphasized that “…the differences in constructional scale and grave goods exhibited in the Copper Age funerary record of southern Iberia suggests

the existence of tensions within a society that is in principal collective in social organization, but is ceasing to be so” (2013: 15). As such, the Iberian Copper Age record provides a unique opportunity for investigating the emergence, maintenance, or deterrence of institutionalized inequalities during a time of unprecedented experimentation. 10.3. EMBODIED INEQUALITY: THE CONTRIBUTIONS OF BIOARCHAEOLOGY Despite widespread archaeological evidence for increasing social differentiation during the Iberian Copper Age, one aspect of the material expression of inequalities that has only recently begun to receive recognition is their literal embodiment in human skeletal remains. As García Sanjuán and Díaz-del-Río emphasize, the traditional treatment of “human, botanical or faunal remains [as having] … little or, at most, secondary epistemological value” (2006: 6) within Iberian cultural-historical archaeology has limited understandings of the emergence of institutionalized inequality in the region. However, in her summary of the past 25 years of Iberian archaeology published only 12 years later, Lillios (2018: 212) points to the “explosion” of bioarchaeological research recently conducted for the Late Neolithic and Copper Age. Importantly, she emphasizes how newly collected skeletal data have helped to reconcile the ‘social homogeneity’ implied by Chalcolithic collective burial practices with the persistent indications of social differentiation observed using other lines of archaeological evidence. The reason that bioarchaeological approaches are so valuable for understanding Copper Age societies is because human skeletons encode multiple aspects of social identity while preserving rich information about multiple dimensions of individual lived experience (fig. 10.1). Bioarchaeologists are able to assess age and sex with reference to dental eruption and development, epiphyseal fusion, tooth wear, the morphology of the auricular surface and pubic symphyseal face, and non-metric traits of the skull and pelvis (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994; Scheuer and Black 2004). The evaluation of activity levels and habitual patterns of movement is possible using cross-sectional geometry of the limb bones (Maggiano et al. 2008) and patterning in osteoarthritis, the boneon-bone wear that occurs as cartilage degrades at joint surfaces (Eng 2016; Becker 2019). Experiences of antemortem and perimortem violence can be reconstructed through the assessment of fractures, trauma, and cutmarks (Walker 2001; Martin, Harrod and Pérez 2012). Stable isotope analyses of carbon and nitrogen, combined with the nature and frequency of dental pathologies,

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Figure 10.1.  Schematic depiction of the multiple dimensions of lived experience and social identity that can be encoded in human skeletal remains from archaeological contexts.

have contributed to broader understanding of dietary variability in past populations (Cohen and Armelagos 1984; Tykot 2006; O’Connell et al. 2012). New techniques focused on the analysis of calcified dental plaque allow for finer-grained reconstructions of individual consumption patterns, as well as larger subsistence shifts (Warinner et al. 2014). Bioarchaeologists can likewise use the biogeochemical relationships between local geology or water sources and strontium or oxygen isotopes to analyze individual and community mobility in prehistory (Bentley 2006; Lightfoot and O’Connell 2016). Finally, some diseases—including leprosy, tuberculosis, and the treponemal diseases— preserve skeletally (Ortner 2003), although the extent to which disease prevalence and mortality profiles provide an accurate signal of past population health continues to be debated (Wood et al. 1992; DeWitte and Stojanowski 2015). While the full scope of the field is too broad to concisely summarize here,3 these baseline bioarchaeological data can be used to create detailed reconstructions of individual and community lifeways that can be embedded within broader archaeological See Quinn and Beck (2016) for a more detailed outline of the contributions bioarchaeological data can make to archaeological understandings of economic, ideological, and political inequality. 3 

understandings of cultural, historical, ecological, and evolutionary contexts. The next section of this paper focuses on three dimensions of lived experience—diet, mobility, and violence—and briefly assesses the bioarchaeological studies that have been conducted for complex Copper Age Iberian sites for each domain. Each section compares and contrasts the available archaeological and bioarchaeological evidence to illustrate the ways in which skeletal data are key for furthering our understanding embodied inequality during this transformative period in the late prehistoric regional record. 10.4. BIOARCHAEOLOGICAL APPROACHES TO COPPER AGE INEQUALITY

10.4.1. Diet Agrarian economies intensified during the third millennium BC as local communities began to incorporate larger numbers of agricultural and domesticated products into their diets (García Sanjuán and Murillo-Barroso 2013). Subsistence practices were dominated by a “mixed farming” strategy that combined dry or irrigat-

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Figure 10.2.  A: Box plots of human δ15N values from complex sites in Copper Age Iberia. Sites ordered by median δ15N from lowest to highest; B: Box plots of human δ13C values. Sites ordered by mean δ13C from lowest to highest. Los Millares (N=10) data from Waterman et al. (2017). Marroquíes (N=82) data from Beck et al. (2018). Valencina (N=17) data from Díaz-Zorita Bonilla (2017a) and Fontanals-Coll et al. (2015). Zambujal (N=4) data from Waterman, Tykot and Silva (2016), only including human samples taken from the settlement itself.

ed farming of cereal crops with stock breeding, supplemented with pastoralism, hunting and gathering (Chapman 1978; Mathers 1984; Micó 1995; Vicent 1995). Paleobotanical remains from this period document the presence of plant staples such as bread wheat, hulled barley, corn, linseed, flax, peas, broad beans, lentils, grapes and olives, while residue analysis of Beaker ceramics points to the existence of primitive forms of wheat beer (Rojo-Guerra et al. 2006). Subsistence implements preserved in the archaeological record include sickles, grinding stones, ovens, pits, pots, and baskets for harvesting, processing, and storage (Chapman 1990). Zooarchaeological evidence attests to a more intensive exploitation of sheep, goat, pig, horse and cattle than during earlier periods, though wild species such as hare, rabbit, red deer, molluscs, and a variety of birds also contributed significantly to Chalcolithic diets (Chapman 1978; Gilman 1987; Castro 1995). Archaeological evidence suggests that this agropastoral package of cultivated crops and domestic livestock changed little regardless of environmental aridity (Gilman 1987), a stability likewise reflected in recent isotopic research. Beck et al. (2018: table 9) consolidated the results of nine recent dietary isotopic studies which included 250 individuals from 18 late prehistoric Iberian sites. The majority of these studies indicate a C3-dominated plant diet that shows little evidence

of the incorporation of marine resources, regardless of local site proximity to the sea. While there is occasional evidence for the consumption of C4 plants in areas such as the Estremadura region of Portugal, the Upper Tagus basin, and central Spain, there are multiple possible explanations for this enrichment, including consumption of indigenous C4 plants such as purslane or seaweed, an early introduction of millet into the region, and the use of alternative forms of fertilizer (Waterman et al. 2016; Díaz-del-Río et al. 2017). Given the relative regional consistency in late prehistoric Iberian diets, intrasite examinations that chart the range of isotopic variation and compare inter-individual and inter-group differences are key to understanding whether emerging inequalities materialized in differential access to subsistence resources during the Copper Age (fig. 10.2). In some cases, these comparisons have formed the explicit focus of bioarchaeological research, as in the work of Fontanals-Coll, Díaz-Zorita Bonilla and Subirà (2015) at Valencina. In their palaeodietary study, the authors compared results for individuals interred in the high-status megalithic tomb of Montelirio, a locale containing one of the highest concentrations of exotic and elaborately-crafted artifacts at the site, to results from individuals buried in the La Pastora complex. As the La Pastora human sample did not fall within the accepted parameters for collagen preservation,

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Fontanals-Coll et al. focused on the Montelirio sample. While there were no statistically significant inter-individual differences in isotope ratios, the authors point to two individual cases in which the δ15N ratio indicated a higher consumption of animal protein. As these enriched results came from the oldest two females in the sample, this pattern could have been by produced by either advanced age correlating with an increased social status that was tied to dietary differentiation, or the physiological demands of pregnancy lowering the values for younger females. Recent isotopic research on a small sample (N=12) of individuals from four tombs at Los Millares reflects a similar pattern, with evidence for a diet largely based on consumption of C3 plants and terrestrial animals attributable to a mixed farming economy supplemented by wild resources (Waterman et al. 2017). While the results showed no clear dietary differentiation by tomb, the authors use the Lovell, Nelson and Schwarcz (1986) 0.3‰ benchmark for standard deviations in carbon and nitrogen ratios to argue for a degree of inter-individual dietary differentiation with variations in both plant and protein intake.4 Similarly, the range of δ13Cap and δ18O values suggest the possible consumption of C4 or CAM plants by particular individuals, as well as inter-individual variability in water sources or milk consumption. Though the three subadults sampled exhibited the lowest δ15N values for the study, Waterman et al. emphasize that this relationship could be caused by either dietary differentiation or the physiological effects of growth. Only a small sample of skeletons have been directly recovered from the site of Zambujal. However, over the past decade, Waterman and collaborators have conducted isotopic studies of both diet and mobility that draw from multiple mortuary sites in the immediate environs of the fortified settlement, making the case that the burial populations from these areas are likely related to the people who lived at Zambujal (Waterman et al. 2014; Waterman, Tykot and Silva 2016). The results of their dietary isotopic analyses of 81 individuals from seven sites in the surrounding Estremadura region correspond to the broader Iberian subsistence pattern dominated by terrestrial animals and C3 plants. While only a small number of individuals exhibit the enriched δ13C and δ15N values indicative of the likely consumption of marine foods, Waterman et al. point to studies which demonstrate that significant inputs (i.e. > 20%) of marine foods are necessary to appreciably shift δ13C collagen ratios (Milner et al. 2004). Given the relative accessibility of such resources in the Estremadura, as well as

Standard deviations are slightly higher at Los Millares—0.4‰ for δ13C and 0.6‰ for δ15N. 4 

the combined nitrogen and collagen enrichment exhibited by particular individuals in the study, the authors argue that marine proteins likely continued to be of some value to local populations during the Copper Age. As at Valencina, inter-individual differences in consumption patterns appear to have been partially related to age, with older juveniles showing significantly lower δ15N values than adults, potentially indicating culturally mediated differences between the diets of adults and children. However, Waterman, Tykot and Silva are careful to emphasize that there is also a degree of adult dietary variation, noting that “At their most extreme…disparities [between adults] represent a full trophic level (2–3‰) and suggest that some protein-related differentiation in adult diet occurred within burial populations” (2016: 14). Finally, despite being the largest known enclosure site on the Peninsula, isotopic analyses of diet at Marroquíes suggest that consumption patterns here did not diverge substantially from other late prehistoric Iberian settlements, with inhabitants consuming a subsistence package dominated by terrestrial resources and C3 plants. A recent study compared δ15N and δ13C values from three necropolises (Necropolis 1, Necropolis 2, and Necropolis 4) to assess whether there was evidence for significant differences in diet between individuals or mortuary areas (Beck et al. 2018). Only two of the necropolises from Marroquíes preserved adequate collagen preservation for analyses, and these showed no significant differences between the burial populations, nor was there evidence for dietary differentiation related to sex. Instead, the highest δ15N values in Necropolis 1 and Necropolis 4 came from either children or adults. For young children, this enrichment was likely related to developmental differences in diet such as breast-feeding, whereas in older individuals, the higher δ15N values may point to the existence of dietary differences related to an acquired status based on age. Indeed, Marroquíes replicates a number of the dietary motifs observed at complex sites throughout third millennium Iberia, including reliance on a diet based predominantly on C3 plants and terrestrial animals, minimal evidence for patterned dietary differences based on burial site or sex, and some indications of age-related distinctions in diet and a degree of dietary differentiation amongst adults. 10.4.2. Mobility In reconstructing the scale and pattern of Copper Age mobility, Iberian archaeologists have largely focused on the sourcing of raw materials or the analysis of artifact form and manufacture in order to understand the circulation of objects and individuals across the late prehis-

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toric landscape (Lillios 2007). This research has traced the flow of ostrich eggshell (Harrison and Gilman 1977), amphibolite (Lillios 1997), ivory (García Sanjuán et al. 2013; Valera, Schuhmacher and Banerjee 2015), amber (Murillo-Barroso et al. 2018), metal (Murillo-Barroso and Montero Ruiz 2012; Armada, Murillo-Barroso and Charlton 2018), lithics (Nocete et al. 2005), engraved slate plaques (Lillios 2004), and ceramics (Valera et al. 2014). Recent studies have also begun to use isotopic approaches to track the movements of domestic animals (Žalaitė et al. 2018; Wright et al. 2019). The combined results of these analyses suggest a lively circulation of objects, animals, and at the very least, animal handlers during Iberian late prehistory. However, important questions about the nature of this movement linger. Differentiating between distinct pathways of circulation—such as down-the-line versus direct access—and the larger social processes responsible—whether diffusion, acculturation, invention, or some combination thereof—can prove difficult given the equifinality of the archaeological record. One of the most powerful tools for assessing the degree of mobility during the Copper Age, and thus assessing “…the social and cognitive distinctions that might have emerged when some people travelled and others stayed behind” (Lillios 2007: 222), is thus the analysis of human skeletal remains, as bones and teeth preserve records of movement over the course of individual life histories. In the past five years, a significant proportion of bioarchaeological research on late prehistoric Iberia been devoted to assessing the nature and scale of human mobility. Multiple studies have focused on using analyses of strontium and oxygen isotopes to elucidate the relationship between mobility, mortuary treatment, and identity at complex sites including Marroquíes (Díaz-Zorita Bonilla et al. 2018), La Pijotilla (Díaz-Zorita Bonilla 2017a), Los Millares (Waterman et al. 2017), Perdigões (Valera et al. 2014; Žalaitė 2016), Zambujal (Waterman et al. 2014), and Valencina (Díaz-Zorita Bonilla

Site Marroquíes1 La Pijotilla2 Los Millares3 Perdigões4 Valencina2 Zambujal 5

2017a). The majority of sites show predominantly local populations incorporating 100 años, así como las muestras sobre carbón (Cerro Virtud, Almizaraque y Campos), sedimento orgánico (Cerro Virtud), y una sobre concha de Cabecicos Negros dada su distorsión cronológica con respecto al contexto arqueológico (Beta347630). En consecuencia, se han seleccionado 55 dataciones que cumplen con los criterios de higiene cronométrica necesarios para desarrollar este tipo de estudios. Debemos resaltar el tratamiento metodológico común realizado a las cuatro muestras sobre conchas de los yacimientos de Cabecicos Negros (Beta-347627, Beta-336255 y Beta-336258) y Almizaraque (SUA-1169) (véase notas 2 y 3). Como esta última no disponía de la calibración del efecto reservorio se ha optado por utilizar en todos los casos la fecha convencional como base. Para todas ellas, se ha usado la curva de calibración marina Marine13 y un factor de corrección ΔR (DeltaR) (Cook et al. 2015; Reimer y Reimer 2017). Es decir, se utiliza su fecha convencional original, aplicando la curva de calibración Marine13 (Reimer et al. 2013) y un valor de ΔR = 58±85, como valor de referencia media para el Mediterráneo (Reimer y McCormac 2002).4 Esta situación ha llevado a que en una actualización del método de calibración de Utilizando la Base de Datos Chrono Marine Reservoir (Reimer y Reimer 2001), existen dos valores ΔR que podrían haber sido posibles. El primero se obtendría usando la media proporcionada por las 10 muestras más cercanas (que incluirían elementos atlánticos de Faro y Huelva) con un alto ΔR de 108±132; el segundo, seleccionando las muestras de Málaga (1) y Argelia (5), con un valor de ΔR de 64±79. Finalmente, se consideró más apropiado utilizar el valor medio mediterráneo publicado por Reimer y McCormac (2002).

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4 

Periodo Neolítico antiguo Neolítico reciente Edad del Cobre

Parámetro Inicio Duración Final Inicio Duración Final Inicio

Dataciones modeladas (68.2 % de posibilidad AC) 5104-4874 584-241 4687-4503 4214-4071 1147-888 3236-3055

Dataciones modeladas (95.4 % de posibilidad AC) 5324-4773 943-0 4782-4305 4360-4047 1333-788 3309-2936

Media (μ)

Desviación estándar (σ)

Mediana (m)

5035 478 4557 4175 1048 3127

155 235 136 89 143 100

5007 435 4583 4158 1031 3124

2922-2884

2966-2799

2901

30

2902

Tabla 11.2.  Estimación probabilística del modelo bayesiano (Oxcal 4.3).

Figura 11.2.  Dataciones acumuladas. Oxcal 4.3 (Bronk Ramsey 2009), IntCal13 y Marine13 (Reimer et al. 2013).

las muestras de Cabecicos Negros, los resultados hayan corregido las fechas publicadas hasta ahora (Camalich Massieu y Martín Socas 2013; MartínSocas et al. 2018).5 Con la selección y calibración de muestras con diferente curva de calibración resuelta metodológicamente, se elaboró una primera aproximación a la cronología —en forma de suma probabilística (SUM de Oxcal4.3)—, para el Neolítico antiguo, Neolítico reciente y Edad del Cobre (tabla 11.2). El objetivo de ésta es alcanzar una visión general de conjunto, obteniendo un abanico cronológico de forma gráfica y poder valorar tanto su espectro temporal como los

5  Así, la muestra Beta-347627, con una cronología de 5549-5476 AC al 68.2 % y 5619-5385 AC al 95.4 %, con una media de 5513 AC, con el nuevo modelo se transforma en 5154-4915 AC al 68.2 % y 5235-4789 AC al 95.4 %, con una media de 5022 AC; Beta-336255, con una cronología de 5591-5377 AC al 68.2 % y 5543-5342 AC al 95.4 %, con una media de 5443 AC, con el nuevo modelo se transforma en 5056-4819 AC al 68.2 % y 5187-4733 AC al 95.4 %, con una media de 4946 AC; Beta-336258, con una cronología de 5464-5301 AC al 68.2 % y 5470-5226 AC al 95.4 %, con una media de 5349 AC, con el nuevo modelo se transforma en 4904-4684 AC al 68.2 % y 5011-4557 AC al 95.4 %, con una media de 4791 AC.

efectos de las curvas de calibración IntCal13 y Marine13 (tableaux y wiggles), que ya fueron analizadas en el momento de ser calibradas de forma acumulada (fig. 11.2). Y, siempre, contemplando las limitaciones del método en cuanto a acumulación de incertidumbre (Bayliss et al. 2007; Michczyński y Michczyńska 2006; Chiverrel et al. 2011; Contreras y Meadows 2014). Tras el estudio crítico de la serie de dataciones presentadas en este trabajo, se ha procedido a realizar un modelo bayesiano de tipo overlapping phases dada la naturaleza extensa de la muestra agrupadas en los periodos Neolítico antiguo, Neolítico reciente y Edad del Cobre (todas ellas con desviación 80 m2 indica matrilocalidad y